A New Beginning
by CMFAN2009
Summary: An exploration of Agent Hotchner's physical, psychological and emotional recovery from a life-threatening injury sustained in 'The Fallen'. My first solo fic; please R&R.
1. Chapter 1

**A New Beginning**

**Author:**

Brummie10

**Summary**

An exploration rather than a story per se, of SSA Hotchner's physical, emotional & psychological recovery from serious injury sustained during a bust gone bad ("The Fallen")

**Acknowledgements:**

To B, for her inspiration via "The Fallen", her encouragement, suggestions & contributions

To TG & AW for bringing a fictional character to life in such as way as to inspire creation of more stories for him

I do not own any of the CM characters; wish I did.

**Previously, in "The Fallen": **

"Forty year old FBI agent, suffering GSWs to the left calf and left thorax. Respiration is shallow, laboured, and has gotten worse during transport. Heart rate 170 and weak, pressure 95 over 60 and falling. He's in and out of consciousness and has lost a good deal of blood."

"Sir, can you hear me?" the doctor asked, as they rushed the gurney into an ER exam room.

_Y__es he could hear them._ _He was fighting to stay awake, but everything seemed muffled and distant. He was barely aware of hands gently removing his clothing and attaching electrodes to his chest. Why did breathing hurt so much? He heard the doctor continue..._

"Sir, I have to turn you over for a moment to see if the bullet came out, okay?" without waiting for an answer, the doctor and two nurses turned the man onto his left side. "No exit wound. I'm going to need a CBC and some x-rays, stat! Page Dr. Travis and prepare an OR!" Applying his stethoscope to the patient's abdomen he listened; definitely internal bleeding. Damn. He glanced up at the screen showing his patient's vital signs. Heart rate was still high and pressure still dropping; it was now getting dangerously low. Breathing was also much worse; urgent action was required if the man was going to live long enough to make it to surgery.

_H__e felt a small prick on the inside of his elbow; somebody was drawing blood from a vein in his arm. He was having trouble concentrating. His mind was fuzzy. The fatigue he had felt in the house was now overwhelming. He struggled against the temptation to sleep, although he knew it would be less painful. Something in his subconscious told him that he had to try to stay alert, to keep fighting, that his life depended on it. But he felt so weak and he couldn't seem to get in enough air...He thought he heard the doctor's voice addressing him again..._

The doctor had been handed an intubation kit by an ER nurse. "Agent, I'm going to put a small tube down your throat. It will help you to breathe more easily. Try to relax and remain still."

_H__e closed his eyes. The oxygen mask was removed; he could just make out the doctor leaning over him and feel the tube enter his lung. He became aware of an oxygen surge to his lungs as a nurse attached a bag to the tube. That was a bit better, but the pain in his abdomen was unbearable. He gritted his teeth as a wave of nausea passed over him. Just let it be over soon, I'm not sure that I can take this agony anymore! He suddenly wondered if some of the murdered victims he had encountered over the course of his career had felt this way as they neared death. It occurred to him that most had not had a chance, that their lives were simply snatched away. He, on the other hand, did have a chance and a choice. He could choose the tougher, more painful path; he could chose to battle for his life. The thought gave him renewed determination and in his head he replanted the image of himself playing with Jack. I'm not going to let a scumbag take my life. I'm not ready to die, Jack needs me! I'll fight with everything I have left. He was aware of his gurney starting to move before blackness enveloped him once again..._

**A New Beginning**

"'Tis very certain the desire of life prolongs it."

(Lord Byron)

**Chapter 1**

The influence of the anaesthetic slowly began to wear off. Through his still-foggy mind, the patient became vaguely aware of his existence. He tried to muster the strength to open his eyes, but could not. _"Where am I?" _He was confused but managed one coherent thought: _"At least I'm alive" _before returning to his drug-induced slumber.

***

With a soft moan, the injured man awoke for a second time. He felt oxygen streaming into his nose through a small tube which ran under his nose and hooked over his ears. He was aware of a slight tightness on one arm; a blood pressure cuff. His left lower leg was elevated by a pillow. He heard a steady beeping noise and realized it was his own heart beat being sent to a monitor located over his head, via an assortment of wires stretching from his chest. Various tubes entered and exited his body. _"What's happened? I can't remember... So much equipment, what's wrong with me?... I need to focus but I can't think... maybe if I just change position..."_ He tried moving slightly. Pain shot through him and he returned to the darkness.

***

Regaining consciousness for a third time, the blackness that had surrounded him became a series of grey blurs that began to take shape. Vaguely remembering his failed experiment with movement, he lay still. Even without turning his head, the gunshot victim could discern some of his surroundings as the long-practiced powers of his senses took over automatically. The smell of sterilization, the hum of medical equipment with its blinking lights, the outline of other beds with similar degrees of apparatus and the soft glow emitting from a nearby nurses station told him he was in an ICU and it was night-time. "_One step at a time" _he told himself_. "I just need to make it to morning... I'll remember it all then. I'm going to be okay, Jack, don't worry..." _Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by an enormous surge of pain in his gut; it literally took his breath away. He felt like he was being suffocated. He struggled to get air back into his lungs, rasping and choking. His effort was met with another jolt in his abdomen and his chest tightened as though trapped in a vice. Nausea and pain overwhelmed him. Through it all, he somehow realized that his body was failing him. _"No! No! No! I won't let this happen! Jack...I won't... give up..." _ Still he fought to breathe. Alarms sounded from the monitor above his head. For a brief moment, he felt dizzy... and then he felt nothing.

***

The head nurse on the ICU night-shift saw the blinking red light for bed #3 just as she heard the first alarm. "Code Blue!" she shouted at a colleague and rushed over to the patient. He was in respiratory arrest and already turning blue by the time she reached the bed. Looking up at the monitor, she saw that the heart rate was elevated and very erratic. A doctor and more nurses appeared seemingly from nowhere, one wheeling a small cart. The doctor tilted back the man's head and attempted to insert a tube into his throat. "Damn it, I can't see the chords, his airway is swollen!" Concomitantly, a nurse set up the cart's defibrillator and stood holding a paddle in each hand while another attendant drew clear fluid up into a needle. The pattern on the ECG became even more irregular.

"He's going into cardiac arrest!"

"Charging 300"

"Ok, I'm in, pass me that bag and turn on the oxygen tank."

"Pressure 100 over 50 and falling!"

"Give him 10cc of adrenaline and stand by with those paddles!

"10cc delivered"

"He's in v-tac!"

"Alright, shock him NOW!"

"CLEAR!"

Paddles were applied to the injured man's chest; his back arched upwards momentarily then smacked down on the bed. There was no change to the ECG pattern on the monitor; the erratic beeping noises continued.

"Still in v-tac!"

"Hit him again, 340!"

"Charging 340"

"Pressure 92 over 40, still dropping"

"CLEAR!"

The nurse put the paddles back onto the man's chest to deliver another shock. Again, there was no change to the cardiac monitor.

"Dammit! Come on, man, fight! FIGHT! Crank it up, 360!"

"Hurry, pressure's 70 over 35"

"Hit him!"

"CLEAR!"

Another jolt of electricity surged through the man's heart. Once again his back arched and this time his shoulders also briefly left the bed before crashing back down. The beeping from the ECG screen stopped and the line went flat. The medical team held their collective breath, all eyes glued to the monitor.

"Come on, come on... LIVE, dammit!"

Suddenly, the flat line took on the jagged shapes of a heart beat and the accompanying beeps indicated the heart had returned to normal sinus rhythm.

"Pressure rising, now 105 over 60"

"Oh thank God!"

"That was too close. We'll need to keep a watch on him; checks every 5 minutes. Good catch, Beth, and great job everyone." The crash team left the doctor and head nurse at the bedside, taking the defibrillator with them.

"Beth, let's get him on a ventilator; his breathing is far too ragged. I'm also concerned with what caused the arrest. Check his chest tube for blood or blockage. And please get an ultrasound of his abdomen and another CBC, quick as you can. I need to know if he's bleeding internally again, or if there is any evidence of infection. Let me know the minute you have the results... I'll page Dr. Travis and tell him that we may need to operate on his patient again...and I'll book an OR just in case."

The nurse nodded. She was already drawing blood from a small line which protruded from the back of one of the man's hands. The hand felt cold. She asked, "But do you think he could survive another surgery so soon? His vitals are still extremely weak... we were incredibly lucky he even made it through the first operation, not to mention this crash."

"Yes, I know... he has endured a lot and I'm not sure how much strength he has left. But if he's developed another bleed we won't have a choice but to cut him open again. Let's hope his desire to live remains strong..." the doctor replied grimly.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2**

"Sir? Mr. Hotchner? Aaron, can you hear me?"

In his disoriented state, the doctor sounded miles away. Hotch tried to turn his head towards the voice; even this slight movement caused him to groan with pain.

"Take it easy, Mr. Hotchner, try not to move. Can you open your eyes instead?"

Hotch's eyelids fluttered a few times then remained open. Dr. Keith Travis nodded in approval. "Good! Welcome back. You gave us all a real scare. We've got you pretty pumped up on pain killers and antibiotics so you will probably feel quite dopey; not a bad thing since you need a great deal of rest."

"_Back? Where had he gone?"_ Hotch struggled against the effects of the drugs; he needed to think straight. "_What did he remember...?"_ Distorted images flashed through his head: the flash of a Glock, the feeling of fire as a bullet entered his body; someone putting a gun to his head; Jack, laughing; a concerned-looking Morgan loosening his tie and Kevlar vest; Rossi holding his hand; more thoughts of Jack; darkness... so much darkness. He swallowed painfully and tried to speak but was stopped by a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. "No, don't try to talk. You've been through a great deal and need to save your strength. I know that you may not remember what has happened and I promise that I will answer your questions when you've got more stamina. For now just try to get some sleep, ok?" Hotch closed his eyes in response and let the drugs return him to nothingness.

***

Some hours later, Hotch once again regained consciousness. He kept his eyes shut, trying to clear his head. He was still groggy, but was also keenly aware of the pain in his chest and abdomen, not to mention the throbbing in his leg. "_Pain meds must be wearing off... but at least the nausea is gone"._ Hotch tried to remember the events leading up to his being in hospital but once again his memory failed; just the same blurry images he had had earlier and they didn't trigger any more recognition. _"What's happened to me? How is Jack? Are the team alright? How bad am I? Why can't I remember?!"_ Frustration filled him, but he was saved from his aggravation when he heard a stifled cough from somewhere on his right. Slowly, carefully he turned his head and began to open his eyes.

"Aaron?" Hotch heard a familiar voice, which was accompanied by the sound of scraping chair legs as his visitor jumped up from his seat.

It took a few seconds for Hotch to be able to generate a reply. "Sean" he whispered weakly. He looked at his brother. At the best of times, Sean Hotchner did not resemble his elder sibling. He had blond, slightly scruffy hair, and generally sported a day's growth of stubble on his chin. But today, he was even more dishevelled. Black circles surrounded bloodshot eyes. "You... look... terrible..." Hotch was left breathless from his effort and it took several painful gasps to recover.

Sean, looking alarmed at the pain etched on Hotch's face, forced a laugh. "Oh yeah? Well just don't thinking that that sexy hospital gown is going to help you with the nurses, bro. I've got them eating out of my hand!"

Hotch grunted slightly, his mouth turning up in a half smile. He watched his brother pull the chair closer to the bedside. They were in a private room. Hotch recognized the beeping of an ECG monitor and could see a large oxygen tank stationed next to it. He experienced a little déjà vu as he became aware of the tube running under his nose and the electrodes stuck to his chest. "_I was in an ICU... how long ago was that?"_

"Um, Aaron? You kind of zoned out on me there... dreaming of those nurses, huh?"

Despite the teasing, Hotch knew that Sean was worried and that he was the cause. _"Some older brother! I'm supposed to be looking out for Sean, not scaring him. He looks like he hasn't slept in a week. Great job, Aaron."_ he thought sarcastically. With some difficulty, he slid his arm across the blanket, towards his brother. He opened his hand, palm facing up.

"I'm... sorry... Sean..." he said quietly.

"Aaron, you have nothing to apologize for! It's that porno bastard's fault!" Sean's voice was full of rage but it faltered as he took his brother's hand. He gripped it and bent his head trying to hide the tears in his eyes. "I... I'm the one who should be sorry... I've given you a rough ride over the years..."

Sean was whispering now, "Seeing you lying in the ICU with all those tubes sticking out... and that machine breathing for you...the pump just going up and down, up and down..." he shuddered, "I thought that I would never get another chance to..."

Hotch cut his brother off in mid-sentence, trying to sound stronger than he felt. "Sean, it's okay... you don't have to..." Every word was an endeavour; he ran out of air and was forced to stop, gasping once again.

"Aaron! Aaron, are you okay? Do you need me to get the doctor?"

Hotch shook his head slightly, grateful for the steady stream of oxygen coming from the tube in his nose. He didn't want his brother to know just how weak he was.

Sean looked dubious, but went on, "Look, I need you to know that even though you can be an asshole, I... I'm really proud of you. Always have been. And... And... I love you..."

The brothers gazed at each other for a moment before Sean broke off eye contact. "No profiling me, big brother, I was telling you the truth. And don't make me get mushy again. I'll deny it all in public." Hotch smiled inwardly. His sibling, for all the bravado, was still tightly holding his hand.

"Sean... Sean, I..."

"No Aaron! Stop trying to talk. The doctor won't let you have any visitors if you don't stay absolutely quiet. Nothing to raise your heart rate..."

"But..."

"Please, bro, please! Please... just rest... I couldn't take it if you ended up back in the ICU..." Sean seemed to realize he had gone too far and tried to joke, "...not to mention I'd have the wrath of Haley and your colleagues to contend with."

Hotch had never known his brother to beg for anything, and he could hear the anxiety in Sean's voice. He bit back his questions. It was probably a good idea to keep silent, given his chest still felt heavy and pain radiated from his abdomen. Shifting slightly made him grimace involuntarily. He glanced at Sean, hoping it had gone unnoticed. It hadn't. Sean was watching him carefully, still gripping his hand.

"The meds are wearing off, aren't they?" It was more of a statement than a question. Hotch said nothing. He didn't want to give into the pain but he really was in agony. "I'll be right back."

With that, Sean let go of Hotch's hand, stood and left the room. Hotch sighed and took the opportunity to mull over the information contained in his brother's outburst. _"Haley had been here. Had she brought Jack...?" _ And since the team were talking to Sean, they must all be alright. That was a relief. But the description of him in the ICU scared him more than he would like to admit. _"I've got to be ok, for Jack's sake..."_

Sean re-entered the room, sat down and started flipping aimlessly through a magazine. He was followed by a stern-looking nurse. She read from a clipboard hooked to the foot of the bed and looked at the patient. "Your brother was right, Mr. Hotchner, you are overdue for the next round of codeine, not to mention some antibiotics. I'll need to check your blood pressure and take some blood first, but then I'll sort you out with some medication. Your brother tells me you're in severe pain, which doesn't surprise me given what you've been through. Are you able to wait ten minutes?"

Hotch nodded as the blood pressure cuff was placed around his arm. While it inflated, he closed his eyes. He was annoyed at the fact Sean had spotted the truth so easily. He didn't want his brother worrying so much; he had to show him he was okay. Hotch was also overcome with the need to feel alive, to regain some control over his body and mind. If the sensation of pain allowed him to do these things, then it was a worthwhile sacrifice. "Nurse?" he murmured.

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Please... hold the pain meds... give me only... what you have to... the anti...biotics."

The nurse looked at him incredulously. "Sir, I'm sorry, but Dr. Travis has ordered..." She was cut off in mid-sentence by Sean, who had heard the request, gotten up and come over to the bed.

"What the hell are you doing, Aaron?"

"I... I just..." again Hotch needed to pause to catch his breath. Not only was it extremely tight, but his chest felt as though a hot poker had been put through it.

"You just what?! It is obvious how much pain you're in! Why are you being such an idiot?! Accept the meds for god's sake!

Hotch tried again, "I... need..."

"Aaron, what you **need** is to quit being so fucking stubborn and take the meds! The doctors know what they're doing!"

"Sir, calm down, this isn't helping." The nurse gave Sean a meaningful look.

Sean threw the magazine across the room in exasperation and walked towards the door. He turned, "Aaron, for once in your life, quit trying to be a hero, okay? Take the god-damn meds. You don't HAVE to show us all how tough you are, we already know. You... aww, just forget it! Let me know when you return to reality."

"Sean, I'm not..." in his agitation, Hotch tried to sit up. He couldn't stifle the cry that came from his lips as his entire body seemed to go into spasm. He fought to remain conscious, writhing and moaning in agony. He lost control of his breathing again. Almost immediately the nurse put a mask over his face and flicked a switch on the oxygen tank.

"Aaron!" Sean's anger was instantly replaced by panic at seeing his brother's distress. Gradually, Hotch's breathing returned to normal and he relaxed. Sean collapsed back in the chair in obvious relief. He looked at his sibling, shaking his head, "Just take the meds." His voice was level but Hotch recognized the hostility in the tone. Apparently, so did the nurse.

"Ok, that's enough! Both of you!"

She pointed at the younger Hotchner. "Sir, I think you should go now and let your brother get some rest. You could do with some sleep too. Don't worry; I'll make sure he gets what he needs." She turned to Hotch. "As for you..."

But Hotch's attention was on his brother. At the nurse's words, Sean had gritted his teeth and nodded; Hotch could see he was barely controlling his anger. The blond man walked out of the room, changed his mind and once again stood in the doorway. "You know what, Aaron? You have **no** fucking idea! **No** idea of what I went through! YOU didn't have to look at your brother being kept alive by machines, seeing only wires and tubes everywhere. YOU weren't told that he was probably not going to make it! YOU didn't have to see all the blood-stained bandages or the pain on your face even though you were in a coma... So, Mr. Hero, try thinking about your loved ones, huh big brother?!" And with that, Sean Hotchner turned on his heel and stormed off down the corridor.

Hotch lay back on his pillows, frowning. He was exhausted and confused. _"But Sean, I WAS trying to think of you..."_


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

Supervisory Special Agent David Rossi sat sipping a coffee and watching the goings on around him. Even when he wasn't working, Rossi found it hard to stop watching people and the way they interacted with each other. A hospital's waiting room was a perfect example of the best and worst of humanity. Fifteen minutes into his arrival and he had already observed both an attempted assault on a doctor (presumably for being the bearer of bad news) and the joy of a newborn baby shared with an intern. "We're going to name her after you!" the mother had told the young doctor, who had blushed and quickly excused herself. Rossi smiled. He was about to pick up a magazine when he saw Sean Hotchner march past the waiting area in an obvious temper. Upon reaching the elevators, the younger Hotchner punched the button impatiently and with what Rossi considered to be excessive force.

Dave got up and walked towards the blond man, "Sean?"

Sean was looking beyond Rossi and it took a moment for him to register the fact he'd been spoken to. "Oh. Agent Rossi. I'm sorry, I... um... I was..."

"Elsewhere." Rossi finished for him. "Anything you want to talk about? I'm going to assume from the scowl on your face that Aaron is somehow involved..?"

Sean sighed. His shoulders dropped and his anger dissipated. "I'm usually not into letting you profilers anywhere near my head, but it's pretty obvious that you know my brother pretty well. Probably better than I do...now how sad is that?!" he said bitterly.

Rossi said nothing, just waited.

Sean sighed again. "I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that. I'm really grateful for all of your support over the past few days... It's just that Aaron REALLY knows how to piss me off!"

At this, Dave smiled. "Yes, he is rather skilled at pushing a person's buttons when he wants to, isn't he? It makes him a good interrogator...and leader." He paused. "But I can't imagine him being in any fit state to be deliberately trying to goad you?"

"No...No, I guess it wasn't on purpose. But sometimes he's just so..!" Sean's voice was rising again.

Rossi placed a hand on his shoulder. "Easy, son. Come on. Let me buy you a bad cup of coffee. It'll be good to let off some steam and maybe I can help. I was just waiting for the doctors to give me permission to see Hotch when I saw you."

There was a 'PING' as the elevator doors opened and the two men got in. "You could be waiting awhile, Agent Rossi" said Sean as they started their decent. "After today, I don't think they'll let anyone within miles of Aaron."

***

"So Sean, what did Aaron say or do to get you so wound up?" asked Rossi as they found an empty table near a window in the cafeteria and sat down.

"He refused medication, Agent Rossi." said Sean, wrapping his hands around his cup.

"Please, call me Dave. I think we've gone through enough together, don't you?"

"Yes, I guess we have. And thanks for the coffee...Dave." he took a sip. "Ugh! You're right, it's bad. You'd think after a week that I'd have gotten used to it."

Dave smiled briefly, "I think it's probably best for your health that you to continue to dislike it." He brought the subject back to the patient. "Now, exactly what did Hotch say? Better yet, start from the beginning."

Sean rolled his eyes, "You sound just like Aaron." But he continued unprompted, "We were actually having a rare "brother moment", you know? I was holding his hand and telling him...um... well, telling him things that I should have said years ago. Anyway, he insisted on trying to talk, even when I begged him not to. And every time he did, he ran out of air. It was terrifying! He's so weak that he can't even get out a sentence without a struggle... and even then it's only a whisper." Sean ran his hands through his hair in despair.

Rossi felt a pang of guilt. As rational as he was trying to be with himself, there was still a very large part of him that felt he could have, and should have done more to prevent Hotch's shooting.

"He's in so much pain. I've never seen him like this... Never. Not even the time when we were kids and I dared him to climb this huge tree. Nobody had any business attempting it, but of course, Aaron had to make his little brother proud. He fell; fractured his arm in three places. I would have been bawling, but he just sort of sniffled, held his arm and told me to go and get mom. But he DID take his god-damn meds!

Sorry... back to today. So Aaron tries to move his leg a bit and is in agony. He thought that I didn't see it... but his eyes said it all. So I found a nurse and asked her to come in and see how long it was before she could give him something. Turns out he was overdue for some drugs. But just as she's taking his blood pressure, he tells her he doesn't want the pain killers! Can you imagine?! I mean, Jesus, what was he thinking?! Well, it's so fucking obvious he wasn't thinking! Idiot, he's always got to be the hero!"

Rossi studied the younger man. It was no wonder that he was so short-tempered. Since arriving from New York to find his older brother in an induced coma, in critical condition and clinging to life, Sean hadn't left the hospital, other than to accept Morgan's offer of a shower, shave and change of clothes. He was emotionally and physically exhausted. And scared. Although now off the ventilator, Hotch's life was still in danger. The team were all frightened, but for Sean, the sole next-of-kin, it must be so much worse. Dave felt some sympathy for the younger Hotchner, although he was equally sure that Aaron would have had a good reason for his request regarding medication. Rossi made a mental note to ask Hotch about it if and when he had the opportunity to visit his friend.

Dave said gently, "Your brother is a hero to a lot of people, but trust me it's a label he despises. He has never, and will never seek attention in that way. He is all about trying to do the right thing. In fact, he's the most unselfish individual I've ever met. I'm sure there's an explanation for his behaviour, Sean. It might not be logical to you or me, but it will be to Aaron."

"Yeah, well, whatever." Sean put his head in hands.

Rossi tried again, "I'm sure he didn't mean to cause you any more stress..." He leaned back in his chair. "Look, emotions are still running pretty high. Why don't you come back to my apartment? Hotch will be resting now, and I'm sure you could use a change of scenery. I'll come back here after dinner and take the night-shift, ok? I don't mean to preach, but you should try to get some sleep... Aaron is going to need all of us in the next few months, whether he likes it or not, and we need to be strong for him."

Sean nodded and looked up at Rossi. He was beyond resisting; he just wanted to sleep the nightmare away. "Thanks."

***

Several hours later, Rossi looked through the window of Room 307. Hotch, clad in a hospital gown, was lying semi-upright, a blanket covering him from the below the waist. Wires leading from his chest to a cardiac monitor were visible from the top of the gown. An IV located next to the bed was drip-feeding the agent through a tube running from the back of his left hand. His breathing was being assisted by a small hose located under his nose. Hotch appeared to be sleeping, his head tilted slightly to one side. _"He looks so pale"_ Rossi thought to himself, _"but at least there are a few less tubes sticking out of him now."_

Dave quietly entered the room and sat down in the visitor's chair. He continued to watch his friend, noticing that every once in awhile Hotch would grimace or moan slightly. Each occurrence would send a shiver down Rossi's spine. _"It should be me lying there, not you. You're young and have a son who needs his father. And you're the BAU's main guy now, and for the future. I cannot imagine a better man to lead the team. We need you, Hotch… you've got to hang in there and get better." _

Dave had never been a particularly sentimental man. Given his occupation and experience with three divorces, he was a realist. He preferred to keep his colleagues at a friendly arms' distance. Not so with SSA Aaron Hotchner, however. Even after retiring from the FBI, Rossi had followed Aaron's rise up the BAU ladder with interest and some pride. After all, it had been he who had first recommended the younger agent to Jason Gideon and he had also had some input into Hotch's training. More recently, the two men had spent some of their free time together, sharing a beer while watching sports on TV. Dave had even persuaded Hotch to join him on a duck shoot. Now, watching his unconscious colleague, Rossi admitted that Aaron was probably the closest thing he had to a 'best friend' so in addition to feelings of guilt, Dave was profoundly concerned about the injured man's fate. At present, Dave felt helpless. Sitting, watching, waiting, praying and hand-holding was foreign to him; he wanted to DO something. _"Damn it all, Hotch, I'm going to get you through this. We'll have you back where you belong in no time, as BAU Unit Chief."_

Rossi's thoughts were interrupted when Hotch began to stir.

"Hotch?" Dave said softly, leaning forward and taking hold of Hotch's free right hand.

Hotch slowly opened his eyes. "Dave?" he breathed, still somewhat groggy.

"I guess it would be silly to ask you how you're feeling?"

"I've certainly… been…better." Rossi was aware of just how hard it was for Hotch to breathe and speak simultaneously. Sean had not been exaggerating; it was heart-wrenching to witness. Rossi's guilt returned.

"Give it some time."

"Mmm."

"Incidentally, I ran into your brother earlier..."

"Oh." A frown, "How is he?"

"He's fine, but exhausted. I took him back to my apartment for some sleep."

"Thank you…for... looking…after him."

"It's not a problem, Hotch. Whatever I can do to help, I hope you know that."

Hotch nodded and looked at Dave for several seconds with his usual penetrating stare.

"So…what did...Sean...tell you?"

"What makes you think he told me anything?"

Hotch raised his eyebrows but said nothing.

Rossi sighed. "Alright smart guy, he told me that you were trying to refuse your pain medication when it is obvious how badly you need it."

A grunt, "Is that...all?"

"Essentially. But what I want to know is 'why', Hotch. Why not take the meds?"

"Be-…cause… I want… to…be… a hero…ap-…parent…ly."

"Come on, we both know that's not true. So, care to try again?"

Hotch was silent for a few moments. At last he said "I was… just… I didn't want… him to… worry… about me...I'm sup-...posed to...look...after...him..." He closed his eyes and let oxygen from the tube refill his nose and lungs.

Rossi considered the response. "Okay… so your logic is that if you aren't on pain meds, then it must mean that you are getting better and no one need worry anymore, is that it?"

Hotch nodded, eyes still shut.

"Hotch, for such an intelligent man, you're being ridiculous."

Hotch opened his eyes and glared at Rossi. Dave, unperturbed, continued, "I don't think you appreciate the situation… and you're not giving Sean much credit. One look at you is enough to show how much suffering you are enduring. Besides which, your brother is a fully grown man. He can look after himself. It will be good for him to have to worry about you for a change; maybe he'll stop taking you for granted."

These comments were met with stony silence.

"Aaron, it's perfectly acceptable to show pain. Nobody is going to think any less of you. Dammit man, you almost died! And you're still not out of the woods."

More silence. A slight 'psss' from air coming from the oxygen tank was the only audible sound in the room.

Still frowning, and somewhat sarcastically, Hotch finally said, "So en- …lighten me… so I can… ap...pre…ciate…the situation."

Rossi hesitated. The doctors had given him very strict instructions. It was made clear that the patient was not to be upset, excited or otherwise agitated. Nothing was to be said or done that could raise his heart rate too much. Breaking these rules would not only result in all visitors being banned, but more critically, could also directly affect Aaron's health.

Hotch didn't miss Rossi's uncertainty. "What aren't...you...telling...me?"

Dave knew that he had to say something. If he didn't, Hotch was likely to stew over the lack of information and this might do even more damage to his recovery.

"Hotch you have to promise me that you'll stay calm. The doctors don't want you having ANY visitors aside from immediate family, and even then, they won't allow Jack in just yet. I had to beg to get in here and I'm not willing to risk that. They've ordered me to avoid everything that could raise your heart rate, which includes telling you about this last week. I'm sorry, but I care about you too much to put your life in jeopardy."

Hotch mulled this over. "You know...Sean said...the same thing...Nothing...to...raise my...heart rate..." he paused to get his breath, then said anxiously, "Please...tell me...is it...my...heart?"

Rossi vaguely remembered that Hotch's father had had a heart attack at a relatively young age, and thus understood Aaron's fear. He couldn't let his friend worry unnecessarily.

"No, Aaron, it is nothing like what happened to your dad. You were injured in the field, doing your job."

Hotch's relief was palpable. Rossi's stress was eased. They sat in the quiet. Dave still held Aaron's hand. Hotch's eyes had closed again. _"He needs to rest"_, thought Rossi. But just as he was about to voice this opinion to his friend, Hotch spoke, his voice barely audible,

"Dave..?"

"What is it, Hotch?" Dave put his ear close to Hotch's mouth so that his friend wouldn't have to talk any louder than a whisper.

"I'm...confused..." a pause "I can't think...straight...can't...re...mem...ber..." he shifted position slightly and instantly regretted it, pain shooting through him. He swallowed, gulping for air, and gripped the older man's hand tightly.

"Aaron!" exclaimed Rossi in alarm.

Hotch relaxed his hold on Rossi's hand. "I'm ok...I'm ok...Just...give…me...a minute..."

"Aaron, you need to rest. We can talk again tomorrow, when you're a little stronger." Dave made as though to get up from his chair.

"No!.. Please...please wait..."

Rossi sat back down. Hotch clearly wanted to communicate something, which was unusual in itself. Even around Dave, he guarded his personal life and feelings closely. Rossi was not about to walk out on his friend. He waited patiently while Aaron got control over his breathing.

"The...the other reason...for...rejecting...the meds..." Hotch looked directly into Rossi's eyes. Dave could see the pain, the frustration and the worry in their dark depths. He tightened his grip on Aaron's hand. "I just...needed...to...to get...some control...over my...body..."

Rossi was overcome with sadness. Hotch was a master of self-control. For him to be lying in a hospital bed unable to move, breathe or eat without assistance, and without remembering what had happened to put him in such a position must be just as bad as the physical pain itself, if not worse. Hotch was a man whom others relied upon, not who did the relying. Dave nodded his understanding. Aaron was going to say something further, but Rossi shook his head.

"Shhhhh Hotch, it's okay. I get it." Dave smoothed down a piece of Hotch's dark hair and firmly reiterated the statement, looking directly into Aaron's eyes, "I get it."

Hotch looked at Dave. He nodded with gratitude. He knew he was understood. He closed his eyes and slept.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter ****4**

Twelve hours later Rossi sighed heavily and pushed the stack of paperwork to the other end of the desk. He checked his watch. Visiting hours didn't start until 10am, but he was having trouble concentrating on work so he decided to give up and head to the hospital early. _"I think I'm becoming addicted to the coffee"_ he joked with himself. The truth was that since the bust and Hotch's hospitalization, everyone in the BAU was disjointed and simply going through the motions. Every time the phone rang in Rossi's office, all heads in the bullpen jerked upwards, ears straining to hear whatever news on their Unit Chief might be forthcoming. The status of SSA Aaron Hotchner hadn't changed since he had been moved out of Critical Care into his own room within the ICU, approximately 36hours earlier: 'serious but stable' was the official line. 'Not yet out of danger' was its interpretation by the FBI, and everyone was on edge.

For those agents closest to Hotch, it was impossible to focus clearly on even the easiest of tasks. Morgan tried to get them going with a "You know, Hotch is gonna come back, find that we've fallen behind on all this paperwork, and kick our asses" approach but it lacked his usual gusto and fell flat. Prentiss couldn't help but cast frequent glances up towards her boss' dark office. She couldn't remember ever seeing it with the lights off; it wasn't right. Reid took to doodling, anything to turn off the unfavourable statistics on 'total recovery following severe abdominal trauma' that were flooding his brain. JJ and Garcia were quickly running out of excuses to leave their offices and join their colleagues in the bullpen; it somehow felt better when the team was all together.

Of course, each would much rather be sitting at Hotchner's bedside, holding his hand and willing him to be alright. Morgan had tried as soon as he heard that Hotch had been moved to his own room. He had made it past only the nurse's station before he was intercepted and firmly but politely denied access to the Unit Chief.

"That's my boss lying there! He needs to know we're here for him! He needs some of our strength..."

"Sir, what Mr. Hotchner needs is total rest. Immediate family only, except for Agent Rossi who is the FBI representative."

Morgan tried to step around the nurse but was physically restrained by an intern. He ran his hand over his bald head in complete frustration. "But..!"

"I'm sorry, Sir, that is what the medical team have decided." said the intern. "At the moment, your boss is still in very serious condition. When he is stronger and ready for visitors, we will let you know. Now please, go before we are forced to call Security."

Morgan had returned to Quantico in a foul mood. After recounting his story, the others knew that it would be senseless to go to the hospital until Hotch's condition improved. They returned to their individual worrying.

The 'higher ups' within the FBI also demonstrated concern and compassion for their fallen member. JJ was accumulating 'get well' cards from Quantico and beyond; word had travelled quickly and Hotch was a popular and influential figure in cities all over the country. Locally, Section Chief Erin Strauss had spent her fair share of time at the hospital, pacing and worrying right alongside the BAU team members. Once her agent's condition had been upgraded from 'critical', however, she got down to the business of planning Hotchner's replacement. Despite past history, Strauss had come to trust her Unit Chief, although she didn't always approve of his methods. She prayed the juggling of staff would only be temporary.

Rossi had just pulled into the hospital's parking lot when his cell rang. It was Strauss. Ten minutes later, the senior agent emerged from the SUV and slammed the door in frustration. He took several deep breaths before making his way towards the cafeteria and another cup of bad coffee.

***

"Knock - knock!"

"Hey Dave." Hotch gave his visitor a weak smile. To Rossi, he looked much the same as he had the previous day, although his voice was sounding slightly stronger.

"You're looking a little better... or maybe you're just taking your pain meds..." Rossi said with a straight face as he pulled the now-familiar chair over to the bed and sat down.

"You're…very funny." said Hotch dryly, rolling his eyes. "I wasn't aware...that clowns had...made the visitors list."

Rossi chuckled. "Sorry, Hotch, I couldn't resist." But he was buoyed by his friend's light response. A few days ago, Rossi wasn't sure the two men would ever again share a joke.

"Oh! Before I forget and incur the wrath of Agent Jareau..." he bent down, opened the bag he'd brought, and removed a large stack of cards. "You've made quite a difference over the course of your career, my friend" Dave said, placing the pile on the bed. "You don't get cards from agents all over the country very easily."

Hotch looked at the cards, then at Rossi. "Word travels fast..." He was frowning slightly and had closed his eyes.

"You don't seem too happy..?"

Then all of a sudden, it dawned on Rossi.

"Dammit, Hotch, I'm sorry! I didn't think..." he snatched up the cards and put them on the window sill, out of Aaron's direct line of vision. He cursed himself for being so thoughtless. He should have known that Hotch would be mortified to discover how many peers knew of his injury, especially when he himself was being denied the details. It was now apparent that a lot of FBI agents knew more about what had happened than the victim. _"Dammit!" _Rossi cursed himself again.

"It's ok Dave...not your fault." Hotch weakly motioned his friend back to the chair.

Rossi considered the man lying in front of him. "While I'm on a roll, there's something else you should know." He sighed heavily and sat back down.

Hotch inquisitively turned his head to face his visitor.

"I got a call from Strauss this morning. She's ordering the team to take some compassionate leave. When we return, she's put me in charge…" a pause "But only until you're back." The words sounded hollow to Rossi. The recent feelings of guilt had returned. Not only had Dave escaped the bust uninjured, now he was taking over his best friend's job... a job that meant everything to Hotch. Even if it was only a temporary role, it didn't sit well with the older agent.

"I'm glad...Nobody else...I'd trust...to lead...the team." but then something occurred to Hotch and he frowned, "But why the leave..? I'm still...here...There are people...out there...that...need us."

Rossi was spared having to compose a reply by a brief knock on the door. Dr. Travis entered the room, picked up the clipboard hooked to Hotch's bed, scanned the contents and regarded his patient.

"How's the breathing, Aaron? Any better today?" he unwound the stethoscope from around his neck.

"A little..."

The doctor looked sceptical but didn't say anything.

"Doc, do you want me to leave?" asked Rossi.

The doctor had loosened the ties on Hotch's gown and was placing the stethoscope buds into his ears. "No, Agent Rossi, that won't be necessary. I'll only be a minute. We **are** going to take Agent Hotchner for some tests shortly, but I think it's time that he knows where we stand first. You're welcome to stay." He said all of this while looking at Rossi with a 'he might need your support' message clearly written on his face.

Dave stood up and moved to the window to give Hotch a little bit of privacy. Seeing the pile of cards rekindled his anger. _"David, you're an old fool. You are going to have to do better."_ He heard the doctor speak to Hotch.

"Okay, Aaron, try a deep breath for me."

Hotch started to inhale; he almost made it, but a stab of pain around his ribs and stomach area left him gasping and writhing on the bed.

"Easy, Agent", Dr. Travis calmly put the oxygen mask over Hotch's nose and mouth. "Believe it or not, it sounds much better than when I first saw you."

Rossi was sickened. He had seen the look of agony that passed over Hotch's face just before the mask covered it... he didn't want to imagine that pain being any more severe. _"God, just how badly was he suffering in the Gordon house for all those hours?!"_

"Will...I...recover?" asked Hotch, removing the mask in annoyance now that his breathing had settled.

"In time, yes. And I cannot overstress the 'in time'." The doctor sighed as he tried to replace the mask but the patient turned his head away. "You've suffered severe injuries, Agent Hotchner. Frankly, I'm still wondering how it is that you're still alive. Medical intervention alone would not have been enough to save you."

Hotch pinched the bridge of his nose, thinking. "I can't...remember...only bits...and...pieces..."

"Don't push yourself. Your memory should return, probably in fragments as you've indicated. But let me fill you in on your medical condition. Agent, you suffered two gunshot wounds, one is extremely serious. A bullet went right through your left calf but other than causing you some discomfort, it is already healing well. You weren't so lucky with the second bullet; it did all the damage. It entered you from the side, ricocheted off your bottom rib and embedded itself in your abdomen. It nicked your kidney and tore through some of your intestines along the way, causing massive internal bleeding in the area around your lower torso and into your abdomen. It was lucky you got to us when you did; any longer..." he left the sentence unfinished.

Hotch's face was emotionless, but Rossi saw him grip the blanket as the doctor continued, "We removed the bullet, repaired the damage and began trying to replenish all of your lost blood volume before your body went into shock. I'm amazed that it hadn't failed on you earlier... you were certainly showing signs when you arrived in the OR. But you're an exceptionally strong man, Aaron, physically and mentally. You refused to quit and your vital signs held."

Oblivious to the complement, Hotch asked, "and my breathing...?"

"Ah yes. Well, when the bullet hit the rib, it shattered the bone and a piece partially penetrated the bottom lobe of your lung and the diaphragm. Not enough to fully collapse the lung, but certainly enough to cause serious damage... more bleeding... and pain, as you've noticed..."

Hotch closed his eyes, trying to absorb all of the information. Instinct told him the doctor was holding something back. He opened his eyes and looked steadfastly at his surgeon. "Please go on."

Rossi tried to hold Hotch's hand but was gently resisted. "No, Dave...I'm ok...I just need to...hear it all." In spite of his weakness, there was a hardness to his tone.

Dr. Travis sighed. "A few hours after the surgery, you developed complications. You started haemorrhaging again and, combined with the fact that you were already so frail from previous blood loss, and the difficulty with your breathing, you progressed very quickly from shock to respiratory arrest..." he coughed uncomfortably, "to full cardiac arrest."

Dave watched his friend closely for his reaction. True to character, Hotch remained outwardly unmoved. "So...my heart...stopped...entirely?" he asked evenly.

"Your heart went into ventricular fibrillation, where its rhythm is sporadic, like a bowl of jelly. We used the defibrillator to shock it; like restarting a computer, this means getting it to stop and hoping that it will start again on its own... and start with a normal rhythm."

"And is...is this why...my chest is still…so painful?"

"Yes, you had a big jolt of electricity pass through your heart... you're going to be sore from it, as well as your muscles being tight from your lung injury. You might also have some residual pain from the coma. After your crash, we placed you into an 'artificial coma' which allowed us to stabilize your vital signs again."

Rossi was concerned at the apparent ease with which Hotch was taking the news of the cardiac arrest and subsequent coma; he seemed to be in denial as to the gravity of his injuries. Hotch, though, wasn't through with his questions, "And you say... I'll recover fully?"

The doctor answered cautiously, "That is my educated opinion, but it is also why we're going to do a full battery of tests." He became serious, "Agent Hotchner, you have to be prepared for the possibility, slim as it may be, that you suffered some degree of permanent damage to a vital organ."

It was Rossi's turn to close his eyes. He whispered a silent prayer. Any permanent heart or lung damage would most certainly end Aaron's career in the field, and David knew Hotch well enough to realize that if he could not be in the field, he wouldn't remain in the BAU; Agent Hotchner always led his team from the front. David also knew just what the job meant to his friend. He didn't know what Aaron would do if he was forced to retire from it on health grounds.

"No...I won't... accept..."

"No?" Dr. Travis looked at him incredulously. "Mr. Hotchner, this isn't up for discussion. I don't think you understand me."

"I understand...Doctor... But I won't...consider...anything less...than...complete... I'll be fine."

At this point, Rossi decided some intervention was necessary; he had experienced Hotch's stubbornness first hand and an argument certainly wouldn't help his friend's recovery. "Let's just take this one step at a time, Hotch. We'll have the tests done, and then worry about what happens next."

"I'll be fine." said Hotch flatly.

The doctor and Dave exchanged glances. Dr. Travis put his stethoscope back around his neck. "Well then, let me get hold of some orderlies to come and take you for those tests. I'll stop in at the end of my shift and see how you're doing, ok?"

Hotch nodded. Then he looked pointedly at Dave. "We'll talk…about that BAU…team leave…later."

Rossi ignored the comment. Picking up his bag he started towards the door. "Sean and I will be back tonight to see you. Get some rest this afternoon, ok Hotch?"

Outside in the corridor, Dave closed the door and saw that Dr. Travis was waiting for him. "Doctor?"

There was no preamble from the doctor. "He took that remarkably well… too well, in fact."

"That is vintage Aaron Hotchner. He goes out of his way to make sure people don't worry about him. I'm afraid that although you'll find him exceptionally motivated, his stubbornness will make him a difficult patient." Rossi smiled slightly.

"So I'm coming to understand." said the doctor, returning the smile. "But I can't complain; that obstinacy and refusal to give in are probably what have kept him alive. Agent Rossi, I'll need your help… and that of Sean, to present a united front and keep him from doing too much too soon. And in helping him to come to terms with what has happened… you know Aaron very well, and that should help us to push the right buttons, psychologically."

"You've got our total support." agreed Dave, "Whatever you need, consider it done. You'll have to ensure we're using a tough and experienced psychologist, though. FBI profilers are experts at fooling others, and Hotch will know all the right things to say to a psych doc."

"Hmm, yes, I suppose he would. I'll have to think about that for a bit. In the meantime, we'll have to be quite firm with Aaron because he's already in denial. In my experience, given his personality type, our best bet is to be blunt and consistent in the message that he is NOT okay."

"Aren't we risking deflating him?"

"Possibly, but we need to get him past the denial. He will also go through a certain amount of anger and depression as part of the healing process. Don't misunderstand me, I am not suggesting we don't encourage him, but we have to keep his feet planted firmly in reality."

"Alright. We'll follow your lead. Incidentally, what do you expect to see from the test results?"

"I won't know until I get them. But your friend has made some slight progress over the last 24 hours so I am hoping for no surprises… and no permanent injury." And with that, the doctor politely excused himself and left Rossi to reflect on the conversation before returning to Quantico.

***

Hotch was exhausted. He was surprised at just how much the little movement required of him during the tests had worn him out. And the pain had returned with a vengeance; he hadn't put up any fight over medication after being returned to his room by the orderlies. The assessments had certainly been thorough. Technicians had done scans and ultrasounds of his heart, lungs and the affected intestine/abdominal areas. They had drawn what seemed to Aaron to be an exorbitant amount of blood from a catheter in his arm. They had recorded a full 12-lead ECG tracing and taken chest x-rays. _"I feel like a punching bag, but at least I'll be able to prove to Sean and the team that I'm okay."_ he thought ruefully.

He began to mull the injury list over in his mind. Admittedly, the surgeon's recounting of the damage and subsequent complications had unsettled him. _"No wonder Sean looked so tired. I can imagine his fear. An ICU isn't a place to spend time in... especially someone like my baby brother. I signed up for this possibility, he didn't. But he needs to see that my heart is beating in rhythm and I'm breathing better today. My gut will improve… maybe I'll even get that six-pack Haley used to tease me about. And the calf is fine..." _Just to prove it to himself,Hotch gritted his teeth and resolutely moved his left leg. _"Not so bad."_ he thought, although his hands were clenched and sweat appeared on his brow. He ignored the pain and lay back against the pillows to have another try at piecing together the blurry images from his brain._ "What happened?" _

Hotch's recollections were still hazy. Other than the flash of a Glock, he didn't remember being shot. He had vague memory of a brief span of lucidity when he realized he was in a hospital ICU. He also recalled thinking of Jack in between the periods of darkness. On recent cases, he had come to use images of his son as a way of distancing himself from the horrors of the job. Thoughts of Jack provided him with happiness, hope and strength. Furthermore, Jack was a prime motivator for Hotch's work at the BAU. Hotch reasoned that the more evil he could put behind bars, the better and safer the world would be for his son.

"_Aaron, try to be patient. You know the memories are there, just relax."_ The pain meds seemed to be kicking in; he was getting very groggy. _"They probably slipped me a sedative too."_ he sighed. He looked at the medical equipment around the bed and attached to his body and scowled. "_The sooner I can get rid of this stuff, the better. Only complete recovery, right Jack? That's the least that my family deserve."_

He spent another five minutes thinking of all the things he was going to do with Jack after leaving hospital before drifting off to sleep.

***

Later that evening, Sean Hotchner and David Rossi approached Room 307. With his hand on the door knob, Sean peered through the window. "He's asleep."

"Good" said Dave. "I'm not surprised; he's had a busy day. The doc said he was going to do a full battery of tests to determine if there was any residual damage, to the heart and lung in particular. Look, why don't you go sit with him for awhile? Only one of us can visit at a time anyway. I'll see if I can get an update on his condition or an idea of when we might hear about the test results."

"Alright" Sean agreed. He entered the room quietly and took his customary seat in the only chair. Evening had turned into night, so the room was dark save for a dim light coming from the bedside table lamp and the various outputs from the machines surrounding the patient. The younger Hotchner listened to the regular beep-beep-beep of the cardiac monitor and watched his brother's chest rise and fall. Hotch's face mirrored his struggle with pain, his brow slightly furrowed.

Sean covered his face with his hands. _"Why couldn't you have stayed a lawyer? More money, better hours and you still got to use that big brain of yours and put bad guys away... and you wouldn't be lying here, scaring the shit out of me."_ The sleep he had gotten at Rossi's apartment had helped, yet he remained tired and extremely worried. Even with most of the drainage tubes and the ventilator now gone, Aaron still looked fragile; he was as white as a ghost. _"I don't know what to do, bro. I feel stupid just sitting here. I'm actually missing that jerk who wants to control my life. Please get better; I need you being a pain in the ass... I need my big brother._"

Despondently, Sean got up, went over to the window and looked out over the city with its blinking lights. He missed the sights and sounds of New York, not to mention that he was longing to cook. It was his stress reliever. He knew that his brother still didn't understand the rush he got from inventing a new recipe, but since the big outburst at the BAU some months earlier, Aaron had been making a real effort to support his sibling. Sean had cooked for many of the Big Apple's FBI brass as a result, and had earned a solid reputation. The brothers still didn't talk frequently, but when they did, there were fewer arguments and more banter. In fact, Sean had been on the verge of asking Aaron to come out for a weekend when his cell phone had rung. Unfortunately, it was not Agent Hotchner on the line, but Agent Rossi, and the news was devastating... Aaron had been shot while on duty, had survived the initial surgery but then developed complications, was in a coma and on life-support in extremely critical condition. Sean needed to get to Virginia quickly, things were not looking good.

A soft moan from the bed brought Sean back from his brooding. His brother was waking up. Sean went over to the bed and poured some water from a jug on the table into a cup. "Aaron? Here, try to sip some water."

Hotch tried to take the water but his hand was shaking. Sean stopped him, gently returning the hand to its resting place on the blanket. "It's ok, bro, let me help you. I'm just going to support your neck..." Predictably, Hotch resisted at first, but he was too weak to argue for long and gratefully sipped from the proffered cup.

"Thanks." He murmured.

"You're welcome."

"Sean..?"

"Mmm?"

"I'm sorry...about earlier...I know you..." Hotch winced as he shifted so he could look at his brother.

"Would you quit trying to move?! Dammit, Aaron!"

"Sorry..."

Sean slumped back in the chair. "Forget it. I didn't mean to yell... but you're just so pig-headed at times."

"A... Hotch...ner trait."

"Yeah, well, maybe..."

They sat in comfortable silence for a few minutes. Eventually, Hotch regarded his brother. "So, when are...you going...back to... New York?... The restaurant... must miss...its head chef."

It might have been viewed as an innocent question if it had been asked by anyone else. But not coming from Aaron and not while he was lying in a hospital bed. Sean bolted upright in the chair, hands gripping its arm rests and his eyes flashing with anger.

"What the hell do you mean, 'when am I going back to New York??! What kind of a question is that??! I don't know, do I? Whenever your life isn't in the balance anymore and I can get you the fuck out of here! Someone is going to have to cook and look after you until you get your strength back, or have you forgotten that part?!"

Hotch said mildly, "I'm fine...You can...stop worrying...now...Come back when...I'm at home."

"Your being fine is a bunch of bull, Aaron, and you know it. You're just too stubborn to admit it. You can't get more than a couple of words out without needing more air, you're in god-knows how much pain and you can't lift a plastic cup only half full of water! Do you really think I'm so stupid??!" Sean's voice rose as he spat the out the words.

"Of course... I don't...think...that...But I'm...very...much...alive."

Sean was about to unleash another outburst but stopped himself as Rossi entered the room. "Good evening, gentlemen. Sharing some brotherly love, were we?"

Both Hotchners glared at the new arrival, then at each other. But before anyone could speak again, Dr. Travis appeared in the doorway, a patient chart in his hand.

"Good!" he said, "You're all here. I have your test results, Agent Hotchner. Aaron, may I assume that I can share these with your brother and Agent Rossi?"

Hotch hesitated, but then nodded his assent.

"Fine. Let's start with the good news. Firstly, Aaron, you have the heart of a lion. Your arteries are in good shape and there is no evidence of any damage from the cardiac arrest."

Hotch closed his eyes. "Thank you" he breathed gratefully. Dave said a silent prayer of thanks and Sean's relief was obvious by the broad smile that appeared on his face.

The doctor flipped to another page in the chart. "In fact, all of your injured organs appear to be healing as expected... lung, kidney, and intestine. Of course, there is still the risk of infection, but since we have you on a strong course of antibiotics, this risk is minimal..." the surgeon looked sternly at his patient, "provided that you continue to get enough rest."

"And the blood chemistry work, doctor?" asked Rossi.

"It's about what I would expect at this stage of recovery. It will take some time for Aaron's body to replenish the red blood cells, but the measures associated with his renal function are finally starting to improve." He looked at Hotch. "Once these values are back within normal ranges, and **IF** your breathing stabilizes, we can start to think about further upgrading your condition and transferring you out of the ICU."

Hotch was very relieved. There did not seem to be any reason why he would not resume his BAU career... and yet... He studied the doctor. Something wasn't quite right. Dr. Travis was fidgeting and his manner had changed, becoming more hesitant. Hotch said "I sense a 'but'... "

The surgeon smiled slightly. "I keep forgetting what you do for a living." The smile disappeared and he became serious. "Yes, unfortunately, there is major concern over your continued respiratory distress."

"It's not...so bad..." said Hotch. "It sounds...worse than...it feels."

"Aaron, your positive attitude is commendable, but you can't fool the doc. The results of the lung assessments and my own investigations" he tapped his stethoscope, "tell me differently. I'm sorry; I know that is not what you wanted to hear."

He carried on, "We always knew that the tear in your diaphragm would take some time to heal, but even so, it is not progressing as we'd expect. This may not sound serious to you, but at the moment **all** of your energy is being used to breathe, leaving you very little for anything else. You are getting weaker, not stronger and the quality of your breathing is poor and very erratic. Consequently, you are still at great risk for another respiratory arrest; I'm afraid that we're not quite out of the woods yet."

Following the initial good results, this last statement came as a big blow to Sean and to Rossi. Hotch, however, merely looked annoyed. He closed his eyes and his hands gripped the blankets in frustration. Rossi read his friend's body language but decided not to comment. Instead, he attempted to ease some of the tension in the room. "So where do we go from here, doctor?"

Dr. Travis closed the flip chart and tucked it under his arm. "It is imperative that we get Aaron's breathing under control as soon as possible; we cannot afford for him to get any weaker. This means absolute rest... I'm tempted to ban visitors entirely, but I'm going to trust you gentlemen to keep our patient's verbal communications to a bare minimum. I REALLY AM serious about this. If the lung and diaphragm don't show signs of improvement over the next 36-48 hours, we are going to have to consider more surgery."

Sean's head jerked up. "You can't! My brother is too weak; he wouldn't survive!"

Hotch's eyes snapped open and he glowered at his younger sibling. "Of course... I would! But it...isn't going to...come to that..."

"Aaron?" said the doctor calmly. "This is what I am referring to; you need to stop exerting yourself. I'll give you all five minutes to say your 'good nights' and then I want the visitors gone please. Understood?"

The three men nodded in unison. Dr. Travis smiled slightly. "Good." he said and left them alone.

Sean waited for the door to close behind the surgeon then turned to his brother. Aaron wasn't looking at them. Instead, his head was turned towards the window but Sean could tell his sibling wasn't seeing the scenery outside. It was his way of avoiding talking about his feelings. Despite Aaron's best efforts not to show any emotion, Sean knew that he was scared, scared of dying; scared of not being able to resume his normal life. The younger Hotchner knew full well that Aaron would be terrified of being forced to retire from the BAU and of not being around to help raise his young son.

Aaron's silence was rapidly getting on Sean's nerves. _"Why the hell doesn't he say anything?!"_ Sean darted a quick look at Rossi who just frowned unhappily and shook his head in silent disappointment.

Rossi noticed that Sean unconsciously balled his hands into fists, mirroring what his older brother tended to do just before telling someone something unpleasant. Dave braced himself for another confrontation between the Hotchners. He didn't have to wait long.

"Aaron, what the hell are you thinking? Dammit, talk to me!"

Silence.

It was the last straw for an emotionally and physically exhausted Sean. At his brother's prolonged lack of reaction, he just exploded. "I'm not a god damn profiler Aaron, I can't read you!"

More silence.

"For fuck's sake, you almost died! You STILL might die! Doesn't that bother you?!! Cuz I'm telling you, it's scaring the HELL out of me!"

Hotch still didn't say anything but he was now looking at his brother. Rossi detected worry in his friend's eyes, and more than that… fear. _"Good. Maybe reality is starting to sink in. I only hope that his concern is for himself, not just for Sean."_

Sean now totally lost his patience. "Say something!" he shouted.

Hotch was well aware of the current danger to his life. He understood all too well that he was on the verge of experiencing another 'respiratory arrest', as the doctor called it. _"Every single breath is killing me! How can't you see this Sean? Why do I need to explain that to you, isn't it obvious?!"_ Why couldn't either of them see that he just couldn't bring himself to acknowledge the doctor's words and their implications? To Hotch, such an admission would equate to giving up. There was to be no such surrender, for Jack's sake.

Why couldn't Sean understand that he was alive and that meant he had to take back control of his body and emotions? _"Tell him, Dave...help him to figure it out..."_ Hotch also believed that giving in to the fear of dying would be to concede failure. "_Failures." _Hotch figured that he had had too many of those recently; he just couldn't take another one. He had to fight back and at this point, regaining emotional control was the only way he knew how to do so.

At his brother's continued silence, Sean threw his hands up in the air in disgust, knocking the jug of water off the bedside table and sending the empty cup flying. Without a backward glance he stormed out of the room.

In silence, Rossi picked up the cup and jug and placed them back on the table. He looked at Hotch, who was frowning again and staring after his brother, the blanket still gripped tightly between his clenched fingers. "About…that leave…for…the team…" Hotch started.

"Forget the team, Hotch, and don't change the subject. You know that Sean's right." Dave said quietly. "At some point you are going to have to face the seriousness of your injuries. And you know part of this means talking to someone; you can't do it on your own…simple 'Psych 101.'

He bent down and mopped up the spilled water with his sleeve, then reached for his coat. "Don't alienate the ones who want to help…" he paused "and who care about you… a lot." Rossi didn't wait for a reply but zipped up his jacket and left the room, closing the door softly behind him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter ****5**

The days were definitely getting shorter. The trees were bare and there was a nip in the air. It had been 3 weeks since the doctors had finally seen fit to release Agent Hotchner from the ICU and admit him into the 'Respiratory Medicine' (RM) wing of the hospital. He was exceptionally weak and his condition was still serious, but no longer life-threatening. Aaron considered this day to be a major victory on his road back to the BAU. It had been a vicious struggle to get his ventilatory system back on track, full of many excruciating and invasive treatments as well as long periods of time where the pain and drugs forced him to remain completely still. Twice along the way, his injured lung and diaphragm had threatened to fail him permanently. Twice prompt medical intervention and the patient's extraordinary will to survive had kept him alive.

Sean Hotchner had returned to New York. Shortly after Hotch's transfer out of the ICU, Rossi had come home from the BAU to his apartment to find a freezer stocked with homemade meals and Sean, surrounded by at least half a dozen empty beer bottles, passed out on the couch with his small travel bag acting as a pillow. Dave didn't try to stop him from leaving. In his lucid moments in the ICU Hotch had remained emotionally withdrawn; things had not improved very much in the RM wing and Sean thought this intolerable. The result was a great deal of tension which was simply making matters worse; the brothers' relationship was fracturing. Rossi knew that once Aaron was recuperating at home, he would really need his younger sibling. Thus, some degree of separation seemed warranted in the meantime to preserve what little good will remained. Dave kept in daily contact with Sean; it wasn't an ideal solution, but at least there were no Hotchner battles to slow Aaron's physical recovery. For his part, Hotch wasn't happy with the situation. He viewed his brother's departure as running away, but he was still far too weak and in too much agony to do anything about it.

Dave was still feeling residual guilt over Hotch's shooting and had taken it upon himself to ensure Aaron's complete recovery, his emotional healing in particular. It was a difficult balancing act to try to be supportive of his friend whilst addressing the frequent periods of denial. Dave hoped that he had gotten it right; he did not want the relationship with Aaron to be affected. In fact, he was seeing Hotch more and more like a brother after all the hours spent at his hospital bedside. The downside to this was more remorse at assuming Agent Hotchner's role at Quantico.

Life inside the BAU was also resuming some semblance of routine. The team returned from their forced leave on the same day that their Unit Chief was wheeled out of the ICU. Strauss had made it Agent Rossi's responsibility to make sure that the BAU ran smoothly until it could be handed back to its true Supervisor. On the surface this appeared to be relatively simple; the team were very experienced and intrinsically motivated. But Rossi was fully aware that a change in leader would mean a change in their dynamics. He was a different personality to Hotchner and had a different style. Everyone would need to be patient and professional in the upcoming months for the team's success to continue; Rossi aimed only to hold everyone and everything together. A very large hole had been created with the bad bust and this void would not be filled until Agent Hotchner came back to work. This was not going to happen anytime soon so team members simply put their heads down and worked hard. They wanted their boss to be proud of them when he took back the reigns. Besides, keeping busy also helped to alleviate their disappointment at not being able to visit their Chief on a regular basis. The doctors were still limiting his guests so other than a quick trip to drop off a card and some gifts, Rossi remained the team representative at the hospital.

***

Aaron Hotchner's next major milestone was passed when Dr. Travis paid a personal visit to the patient to remove the hose from his nose and turn off the oxygen tank. _"Finally!" _thought Hotch,_ "I'm starting to get my body back." _It was a huge relief. He wished that his brother was there to share his joy. With a pang of guilt, Aaron recalled Rossi's warning him not to alienate his loved ones. _"But Sean just couldn't bring himself to understand..."_ he tried to justify his silence. _"He'll be fine once I can get out of here and things can return to normal."_

***

Presently, Hotch was sitting in a chair next to his bed reading a book from Reid, his bad leg propped up on the mattress. He was wearing a navy blue t-shirt and pair of light blue hospital scrub pants, the latter a leaving gift from the ICU nurses. Aaron finished the chapter and placed the book on the bed. Gingerly (his rib and abdominal areas still hurt him greatly) he bent forward to examine his calf. The bullet's entry and exit points were healing well, but the calf was still very tender. It was so heavily bruised that it looked like he was wearing a thick purple sock. Hotch sighed, leaned back in the chair and shut his eyes. He had begun physiotherapy and was worn out from the morning's session. His physiotherapist was a young man named Kyle. Aaron was convinced that Kyle continually confused him with a large rugby player; his treatments were always aggressive. And yet his calf was definitely improving. Despite the severe bruising Hotch could now put his some of his body weight on the leg and was able to limp a few paces with the aid of a walker.

The major limiting factor in Hotch's physical recovery was his fitness. The long and harrowing fight to stay alive and to regain respiratory control had taken its toll. Although Aaron could now talk and breathe concomitantly, even brief conversations left him exhausted. Attempts with the walker were very short and left him breathless. And yet Hotch refused to acknowledge the obvious link between his degree of weakness and close shaves with death; he flat out would not discuss his cardiac arrest, coma or subsequent respiratory failures. Consequently, he expected more of himself physically than he should have and was frequently frustrated when his body refused to oblige.

If it hadn't been for his exercise physiologist, a petite brunette named Megan, he most certainly would have pushed himself beyond breaking point and ended up back in the ICU. Megan found a way to use Hotch's stubbornness to her advantage, either to slow him down or as a motivator. She seemed to think he was progressing right on schedule given the severity of his injuries and was constantly bombarding him with this message.

Their first appointment was at the hospital's rehabilitation pool. Megan wanted to build Aaron's cardiovascular fitness without impact, sparing his calf and rib. When she handed him a floatation belt, he had raised his eyebrows and looked unconvinced. "You're trying to drown me" he had said, only half-joking. Hotch remembered that she had laughed easily, rolled her eyes, taken the belt from him and wrapped it around his waist herself. It wasn't an unpleasant experience although he was embarrassed to lack the strength necessary to enter the deep end of the pool without her help. He was mildly surprised when he didn't sink as she let go of his hand.

Megan asked him to walk the width of the pool and then stop; Aaron made it only a quarter of the way before the weakness of his respiratory system betrayed him. He was forced to grab the side, gasping and short of breath. _"Aaron, you're pathetic…exhausted after 5 steps!"_

His physiologist seemed to read his mind. "Aaron, don't you dare get down on yourself! This is only the first session; I don't expect you to be perfect..." she paused, looking down on him in the water, "…just yet." She grinned and gently poked the hand that Hotch was using to hold onto the side of the pool. "Come on, Mr. FBI, try again for me." In spite of his physical discomfort, Hotch found himself smiling back at her. He took a breath, gritted his teeth and let go of the wall.

***

Hotch began to realize that it might be quite some time before he regained enough of his strength to return to work. The physiotherapy and fitness sessions, simple as they were, were painful and progress excruciatingly slow. And however much he relished the chance to get out of his hospital room and work out some of his irritations, he was more often than not even more frustrated by the time he returned to his bed. Gradually, determination was being replaced by doubt and depression.

Agent Hotchner was also grappling with other aspects of his recovery. Mentally, he had to concede that he was extremely lucky to be alive. Aaron's training told him that he needed to come to terms with what had happened to him, but his impatience to get back to the BAU was ever-present. Such haste once again brought out his denial of the gravity of his injuries and pushed acceptance to the background.

Furthermore, Hotch still had no memory of the bust and subsequent hostage situation other than the blurred images he had experienced in the ICU. It was becoming more than a slight irritation. His frustration was growing and he was beginning to project it outwards, snapping at the doctors and Rossi when they tried to tell him to relax and let the memories return naturally. After discussing the pros and cons of forcing the issue, Dr. Travis and Rossi agreed that Aaron had regained enough strength to be able to deal with the news; more postponement would simply hinder his mental recovery.

Rossi decided that a morning would be best to talk to Hotch before his physiotherapy or fitness sessions wore him out. Dave sat in the hospital cafeteria, trying to plan exactly what he would say. Aaron would read something into every sentence and would be profiling him so careful wording was required. Rossi looked at his watch and sighed. He couldn't postpone this conversation any longer. He made his way to the Respiratory Medicine ward, knocked on Aaron's door and walked in.

"Morning, Hotch."

Hotch was half-sitting up in bed, his empty breakfast tray pushed off to one side. Upon seeing Rossi in the doorway, he pushed himself higher up onto his pillows in alarm, grimacing slightly as he did so. "Dave? What's wrong? You're supposed to be at the BAU…"

Rossi raised his hand, cutting off his friend. "Nothing's wrong, Hotch." He picked up the tray and placed it on a near-by table. "But we need to talk."

Hotch regarded Dave as he sat down. Rossi looked agitated. If he didn't know him better, Aaron would swear his colleague was nervous. Dave was unconsciously fidgeting with a gold bracelet he had taken out of a pocket. _"Something about that bracelet…"_ Hotch strained to remember but came up blank.

"Aaron, the doctors have agreed to let me tell you what happened at the bust."

With his dark eyes, Aaron gazed fixedly at Rossi, frowning slightly. Dave squirmed slightly under their intensity. "Look, I'm going to be up front with you… this isn't easy for me."

Hotch's look softened somewhat. "I'm sorry, Dave. From what I've been told so far, I know that you were there with me through it all… It can't have been easy."

"I just… I just felt so useless…" Rossi stopped and pulled himself together. He had promised himself not to allow his emotion to show, it would only make an unselfish Hotchner feel guilty. "Do you remember anything at all, Hotch?"

Aaron closed his eyes, trying to think. "I know that we were on a bust, but I don't actually remember it… I have an image of a flash, which must have been the gun, a feeling of pain and then just a lot of darkness… "

Rossi said "the gun was a Glock, and you were actually shot twice at that point; the bullet through the calf came later. Anyway, the bastard was lucky with the first shot, slipping it in under your vest. The second bullet hit you in the chest and the momentum took you into a wall, which knocked you out."

"Lucky vest…" Hotch murmured, voice level, eyes still closed, and giving nothing away. "But how did you end up as a hostage too? You know the rules… don't hang around."

Dave ignored the implied disapproval, "Yes, Hotch, I'm well aware of procedure and was about to follow it, but I could see the reflection of one of the brothers in the window. He was pointing his Glock at your head and threatening to finish you off… I wasn't going to let that happen."

Aaron opened his eyes and looked over at Rossi. For a long moment, neither man spoke then Hotch said softly, "Thanks."

Dave gave a small smile and nodded. "You would have done the same for me."

Rossi then recounted the rest of the story. He stuck to the facts as much as possible, leaving out details of the more intimate parts of conversation. As expected, Hotch watched him closely. Dave tried to keep his face expressionless but he knew from the questions Aaron was asking that the younger agent was missing nothing. _"Dammit, why do you have to be such a good profiler?!"_ he bemoaned.

When the tale was finished, there was another period of silence. Rossi felt relieved that Aaron finally knew the circumstances surrounding his injuries, although he was also well aware that the hard work was only just beginning. Hotch would need time to make sense of it all and be able to move forward; moreover, he would need professional assistance. _"How do I get Hotch to accept some help? I can tell that he's already blaming himself..."_

Hotch hadn't moved since Rossi sat down. He had shut his eyes again, processing the information. He was still frowning. _"At least he isn't trying to tear the blanket apart"_ thought Dave, observing Aaron's relaxed hands. Yet the lack of reaction was unsettling even if predictable.

"What's happened to Stewart Gordon?" asked Aaron suddenly.

It was Rossi's turn to frown. "Hotch we need to talk about you. What happened to you in there… you just don't get over it. You need to work this through with a trained professional…"

"I'll be alright, Dave. But Gordon, has he been..?"

"Aaron! LISTEN to me! You will NOT be alright. You are NOT alright now." Rossi was not shouting, but the volume had increased and his pitch had hardened.

Hotch couldn't remember the last time he had heard Dave raise his voice. He didn't want his friend to be so concerned. "Maybe not physically, but I'm fine…"

"NO HOTCH!" Rossi dropped his voice but his tone was still stern, "No Hotch. I'm sorry but you're not fine. The Aaron Hotchner I know may not show a lot of emotion, but he doesn't hide in denial. He faces challenges head-on. He admits his short-comings. He doesn't snap at those around him, especially not at people he doesn't know. You've got your team of doctors and nurses totally on edge; they're afraid to say anything lest you give them one of your looks… You've managed to chase Sean back to New York. And you've even given my patience a run for its money."

Aaron was about to utter a retort, then stopped. He stared vacantly down at his hands. In his head he replayed his visits with Sean, the doctors, and Dave. He couldn't deny there was a pattern, although he hadn't realized his behaviour had spread to strangers nor to the extent his manner had changed. _"How did you let it come to this, Aaron?! Where is all of your self-control? Getting shot shouldn't affect your ability to treat people with respect."_ Guilt and anger began to build inside him. _"None of those people deserve anything but gratitude for saving my life! What is happening to me? I'm a trained FBI profiler! I've seen people in far worse shape deal with their situation much better than I have... where is my discipline? I can't be a good team leader if this continues. I can't have everyone worrying so much and on edge. God help me, I can't go on like this! Peoples' lives depend on our team! I need to be able to function and stay calm. What's it going to be like in a life or death situation under stress if I can't handle even simple conversations with my medical team without blowing up_?"

Hotch considered the possibility that Rossi was exaggerating simply to make a point. But deep down, he knew this to be false. David wasn't one to embellish, nor to sugar-coat facts. There must be some truth in his observations.

Minutes passed in silence. Aaron's frown disappeared. He looked deflated and defeated. "Have I really been that bad?" he asked faintly.

Rossi knew he could not shield his friend from the truth. He nodded. "Yes, Hotch." A pause. "Look, we all understand." Dave said, trying to sound more upbeat after seeing the mortified expression on his friend's face. "God knows how testy I would be in your shoes… Hell, I wouldn't still be here. I'd have died at the scene; your will to survive is incredible."

Hotch didn't appear to have heard Rossi's last comments. Slowly, he raised his head and faced his friend. He looked confused and miserable. "Dave, I'm sorry."

Dave gave him a quick smile. "It's okay, forget it. My ex-wives would be pleased to hear that I'd been on the receiving end of some tongue lashings…" he turned serious. "But Aaron...we need to get you some help."

Despondently, Hotch just keep staring at Rossi. When it came, his nod was barely perceptible. "Ok." His voice was no louder than a whisper.

"Now THAT is the Aaron Hotchner I know and love. We'll get you through this Hotch, I promise."


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter ****6**

Grudgingly, Hotch kept his promise to Rossi and agreed to obtain some psychological help. After a good deal of consideration, Dr. Travis referred his patient to a well-known colleague (and close personal friend) who specialized in treating victims of serious trauma. Dr. Ben MacDonald was in his mid 40's, divorced with 2 children, and had over 10 years experience working with law enforcement and emergency services personnel. He had the reputation of being exceptionally intelligent and a 'no nonsense' man. He was extremely successful and consequently, the wait time for a consultation was over a year. Rossi thought this doctor would be the perfect fit for his stubborn friend and was delighted when Dr. Travis was able to get Aaron an appointment.

A nurse brought Aaron's wheelchair to a halt and put on the braking mechanism. Hotch thanked her as she left the room, closing the door behind her. He then painfully lifted himself out of the chair and moved onto a nearby leather couch. The effort left him slightly breathless. As he recovered, he looked about the office. With his highly trained eye, he took in his surroundings. The rectangular room had essentially been divided into two. In one half stood a large oak desk and accompanying chair. On the wall above the desk were various psychology degree certificates, neatly framed. Two large bookcases divided this 'desk' area from the second half of the room, which was clearly designed to put the client at ease. Opposite the bookcases, to Aaron's left, a big bay window afforded a view of the hospital gardens. Even on this, a dreary autumn day, the room was full of light. The sofa he was on was pushed against the wall, the door to his right. Hotch propped his sore calf up on the coffee table in front of the couch. On its other side was a matching leather chair. _"For the doctor, presumably."_ he thought. A live pot-plant sat near the window. Hotch looked up at the wall behind him to find a large, non-intrusive painting of a non-descript landscape. _"Nothing offensive. He wants me to feel comfortable within a professional environment. But he's allowed his personality to show through... I wonder if that's an oversight or deliberate..?"_ Aaron had spotted some framed pictures on the desk. They were laid out haphazardly. The rest of the desktop mirrored this 'laid back' impression, papers strewn about untidily. The photos were school pictures of a boy and girl, only a few years older than Jack. _"He's divorced."_ On a shelf of one of the bookcases, numerous 'thank-you' cards were displayed. _"An informal way of telling me that you're successful... Are you really that modest?"_

The door suddenly opened and a man bustled in. Dr. MacDonald was of average height and build, with blond hair (currently looking rather windblown) and sharp, blue eyes. He was wearing beige chinos and a pale green dress shirt, open at the neck. He had a large coffee cup in one hand, which Hotch recognized as having originated from the cafeteria. The doctor seemed slightly disorganized yet unruffled. At seeing Hotch, he smiled broadly and approached the agent with his hand extended.

"Agent Hotchner! A real pleasure! No! Please, no, don't you dare get up! Doc T would have my head." After shaking Aaron's hand, he walked over to the desk, tossed the file that had been tucked under one arm carelessly on top of the papers and set the coffee cup next to one of the photos."

"I'm sorry I'm a bit late... I just had to have my afternoon jolt of caffeine." He grinned and sat down in the chair opposite Hotch. He looked slyly at Aaron. "So, Agent, what have you learned about me so far?"

Hotch wasn't surprised by the question; he knew the doctor would have done his homework. He was cautious in his response. Professional reputation aside, trust would have to be earned. "I've learned that you seem to like bad coffee."

Ben MacDonald laughed. "Yep, you've got me there. I keep meaning to get my own coffee maker... but I know that I would forget to use it. Besides, it's nice to get out of the office now and again, don't you think?"

Aaron nodded politely. He shifted his weight, searching for a more comfortable position for his sore leg.

Seeing his client's attempt to hide a grimace, Ben asked "May I offer you a pillow or blanket?"

Hotch accepted the blanket. He didn't want to get too comfortable; some pain would keep him alert.

"So, Agent Hotchner, now that we've got the pleasantries out of the way... Tell me, why you are here?"

Hotch looked down at his hands, clasped loosely together on his lap. He was very aware of his body language. He wanted to portray that he was relaxed and in control of his emotions. "I'm not quite sure, doctor."

The psychologist shook his head. "I'm not buying that, Agent. I've read your Bureau personnel file. You are very deliberate in your approach to problem solving. I can't believe that you are here on a whim. Nor will I believe that you were bullied into coming, although I will assume some pushing was required?"

Hotch said nothing.

"Agent Hotchner, let me tell you two things, and I think that you will appreciate them. Firstly, I will not be intimidated or charmed into signing a 'return to active duty' form. Secondly, I'm not here to stroke your ego and agree with you. I'm here to assist you in coming to grips with what has happened. You don't strike me as the kind of man I will need to worry about being a narcissist, but I will emphasize the former... I won't release you back to the BAU until I think that you are able to perform your complete range of duties. When you're ready for desk work, you're ready for the field; no compromises."

Again, Hotch said nothing.

"Agent? Are we in agreement?"

Hotch returned the doctor's look. "I understand your position, doctor."

Dr. MacDonald smiled. "Good. So, I'll ask you again, Aaron... is it okay to call you Aaron? You're welcome to call me Ben."

Hotch nodded.

"So tell me the real reason why you're here."

In spite of his careful preparation for what he perceived as an interview, Hotch squirmed in his seat. This was his worst nightmare. The last thing he wanted to do was divulge his innermost feelings. He knew that ultimately it would help him, but it didn't make it any easier. He was unaccustomed to talking about himself on any level, let alone on a profoundly personal one. Hotch didn't think he needed all of his deepest thoughts intruded upon; he needed to be careful to share only what he thought necessary. _"I've got to try... for Jack's sake. I just need to be my old self, not this guy who is constantly losing his temper. I'd never forgive myself if I yelled at Jack for no good reason. The team deserve better too; I can't be effective if I'm a loose cannon."_

"Aaron?"

"I... I..." he coughed awkwardly, frowned and tried again. "I'm lashing out at people and that isn't acceptable. I need to get back to my old self."

"Well, the first thing that you need to realize is that you won't ever be your 'old self' again."

At this, Hotch's head jerked up and he looked questioningly at his psychologist. "I'm sorry, I don't understand..."

"Agent, when you go through a traumatic event... or events, as in your case, you cannot help but change. I'm sure that deep down, you know this already. You've probably seen it first hand in the people you've encountered throughout your career. From what I've gleaned from your file, I would hazard a guess that this scares you. You've seen a lot of negative change in both criminals and victims... It's okay to be concerned, just as long as you don't hide from that fear.

Hotch knew that Ben was accurate in his assessment. He had seen far too many times how traumatic events could turn previously non-violent individuals into murderers. He remembered the case of the young graphic comic-book artist, Jonny McHale, who suffered a psychotic break after his fiancé was murdered in front of him. McHale began to lose himself in the violent world he had created and acted it out on real people. So yes, it worried Hotch that his serious brush with death and subsequent denial might result in him losing his ability to stay in control. Aaron could never kill anyone without lawful cause, but even his recent short-temperedness had set off alarms. He couldn't risk the lives of his team members if he wasn't fit to lead them.

The doctor seemed to read his mind. "Aaron, what you need to understand is that you DO have some control, some say in the ultimate outcome of your experience. It is up to you to decide whether that change is for better or for worse."

"So far it seems to be for the worse..." the words slipped out before Hotch could stop them.

"Why do you say that?"

Aaron fidgeted with one of the bandages still wrapped around his abdomen. He hadn't meant to share that sentiment. Without looking up, he said, "for the reason I've already mentioned. I'm irritable and taking it out on others. It can't continue."

"Then you've already made your decision. You want your change to be for the better, you just need some help figuring out the 'how'."

Hotch pondered his counsellor's words. "So what do I need to do?"

Dr. MacDonald got up and retrieved the coffee cup from his desk. He looked carefully at his patient. "Agent Hotchner, are you acquainted with the stages associated with recovery following a traumatic event?"

"I'm familiar with what the books say, yes."

"And what are those stages?" At Hotch's raised eyebrow, Ben laughed. "I know, it sounds like I'm testing you... and in a way, I am. I want to hear you say the words aloud."

Hotch was relieved to have the attention taken away from him and went into lecture mode. "Generally, an individual who has suffered severe trauma will initially show signs of confusion or agitation. Transition to the next phase is marked by classic denial. Then subjects will tend to exhibit both anger and depression, sometimes in conjunction with continued denial. There can be a period of testing, a learning of new limits, before final acceptance and healing."

"Couldn't have summarized them better myself." said Ben. "Now, have you placed yourself somewhere in that model?"

A frown. "No."

"Why not? You obviously have the knowledge and the ability to apply it."

The psychologist's question had unnerved Hotch. All of a sudden, he was recognizing his behaviour as it related to the science. _"I should have seen this before! Denial...anger... What kind of a profiler am I?!"_ To the doctor, he said, "I... I don't know why."

"Not true, Agent Hotchner." replied Dr. MacDonald calmly.

Aaron glared at him.

Ben seemed immune to the look and continued, "Do you think this model somehow doesn't apply to you?"

"Of course not." said Hotch flatly.

"Well then? Are you somehow unaffected by serious ordeals like being held hostage, being shot, surviving cardiac arrest and coma, unlike the rest of us?"

Hotch felt the anger growing within him and fought to keep himself in check. _"What is wrong with me?! I know he's deliberately pushing my buttons. I should be able to handle this!"_ Keeping his voice even, he said, "I'm not trying to be a hero if that's what you're getting at."

The doctor shrugged. "Okay... then why avoid the psychology?"

Hotch's hands had balled into fists, a movement not unnoticed by Dr. MacDonald. "I don't know."

"Yes you do." Ben decided to push a bit harder. "You think the team will think less of you, will think that you're weak mentally."

"No!" said Aaron vehemently.

Ben arched his eyebrows at the strong reaction. "No?"

Hotch looked out of the window at nothing in particular. He struggled to get himself under control. After a few seconds, his fists uncurled and his anger subsided, replaced by doubt.

"No... Maybe... I don't know."

"Come on, Agent." Ben encouraged gently. He leant forward. "Look at me, Aaron."

Hotch turned his head away from the window. His dark eyes met those of the doctor. Ben could see sadness and desperation looking back at him, in spite of a seemingly restrained exterior.

"Talk to me."

With a supreme effort, Aaron maintained eye contact. He wanted to floor to reach up and swallow him. He took a deep breath then muttered, "It's not the team's perceptions... it's my own. I just think that if I acknowledge the denial, the anger... that I'll have failed... And I will always believe that I wasn't strong enough to get past it..."

Then he added bitterly, "The team won't think less of me; **I WILL** think less of me."

"And you feel this way about acknowledging your injuries too?"

A brief nod.

"Well Aaron, now we're getting somewhere."


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter ****7**

Rossi was waiting for him when Hotch was returned to his hospital room. While Dave waited for his friend to get settled in bed, he studied Aaron's face. _"It must have been quite a session, he looks tense and tired. A battle of wills and it looks like Hotch may have lost the first round. Good, maybe this doctor can reach him. God knows the rest of us don't seem able to."_

Rossi knew better than to ask about the session with Dr. MacDonald. His chances of getting a reply were nil. Instead, Dave kept to a topic that he thought would be safe: work. He started to describe the team's latest solved case. It had involved children being abducted from a series of daycare centres and later suffocated. The only initial pattern was that the 'unsub' was targeting the children based on their surnames; he was sequentially making his way through the alphabet. As he talked, Rossi subconsciously took the gold bracelet from a pocket and fingered its three charms. Hotch noticed the trinket; he couldn't help staring at it. "_What IS it about that bracelet?"_ he thought to himself. _"And why am I so taken with it?"_

"So it turned out that the unsub was..." Dave finally noticed Aaron's distraction. "... the Cookie Monster who had been denied Oreos for too long."

"Hmm, interesting." Hotch said, not taking his eyes off the bracelet.

Dave shook his head in mock indignation. "Hotch, you're not listening! What's up?"

Hotch wrenched his eyes from Rossi's hands. "Nothing. I'm sorry, you were saying?"

"Sorry, SSA Hotchner, but you've been busted. What were you thinking about?"

"I don't really know." said Aaron truthfully.

Rossi followed Hotch's previous line of vision and realized that he had his bracelet in his hands and that must be what Aaron had been looking at. He was intrigued. "Hotch, has hearing the story of the bust triggered any more memories?"

Aaron was surprised at the abrupt change of subject, but answered. "No..."

"But..?"

"I'm not sure... something about your bracelet..." he sighed. "Sorry, I'm sure it's nothing. Go on tell me more about the case."

"The doctor did say that as you started to get stronger, that you would probably begin to have more flashbacks." Rossi recalled showing Hotch his chain during one of their discussions while being held hostage. He had been trying to keep his colleague conscious, so had been asking questions on anything that came into his head. _"What were we talking about?"_ he mused.

Hotch looked somewhat bewildered and he frowned. "Yes, so I'm led to believe. But what would the bracelet have to do with the bust..?"

It was like a light-bulb going off in his head. Abruptly, the scene was crystal clear. Hotch saw himself lying on the floor of the Gordon house, handcuffed to a radiator. Rossi was similarly restrained, a few inches away. They were discussing their reasons for doing the job. Hotch couldn't remember what he had said, but he now recalled Dave's answer.

"The bracelet... It belonged to young victims in an old case of yours... You came back to solve it." Hotch's dark eyes settled on his friend. He was still frowning slightly.

Rossi impassively returned the look. "You remember? Good! Your memory is starting to come back! I must admit I couldn't put it into context, but yes, now that you mention it, you're right. We were talking about the fact that we're both born profilers."

"Aren't you forgetting something, Dave?" asked Hotch. His voice was low, but there was a warning note in its tone.

It was Dave's turn to be puzzled. "Nooooo... Aaron, what's the matter? You're pissed at me about something, spit it out."

"You can't be an effective leader if your mind isn't one hundred percent in it." Hotch said stiffly.

"Hotch, I'm well aware of that."

Aaron continued to look daggers at Rossi. "You're the BAU Chief now, Dave. You cannot be thinking about old cases! The team needs you! ALL of you!"

"Ah." Rossi realized that Aaron hadn't remembered the complete conversation. He also understood that part of his friend's anger was a result of the trauma; Dave was simply the outlet.

"Hotch." said Rossi gently but firmly.

"What??!"

"You haven't remembered the whole conversation... the case associated with this..." Dave held up the bracelet, "has been solved. I am with the team one-hundred percent. I may not lead the BAU the same way you do, but I care about those within it just as much, Aaron. And I didn't ask to be leader either, don't forget."

Hotch felt a surge of anger, frustration, jealousy and guilt: anger and frustration at his lack of memory; jealousy at Rossi's assuming his position at the BAU; guilt at shouting at his friend when he knew it wasn't Dave's fault. He couldn't control the jumble of emotions. He lashed out again,

"What are you saying, Dave? That it's all my fault?!! Don't you think I know that?!! I missed a portion of the profile, got myself shot and...just about cost...you... your life... Is that...what you...wanted...to hear?! ! Well, now... you have!"

Aaron's outburst was affecting his breathing and he finished his tirade gasping for air and clutching at his injured side.

"Aaron! Calm down, for God's sake before you do more damage to yourself!" Rossi had risen from the chair and was trying to restrain Hotch from any extraneous movement.

Gradually, Aaron's body relaxed and he fell back onto his pillows, still panting. He closed his eyes.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that my error... just about cost you your life... and put such pressure on the team... I'm glad they have a... more competent supervisor now."

Rossi sighed, released his hold and returned to his chair. "And I thought that Sean was the only Hotchner who engaged his mouth before his brain."

"What's that supposed...to mean?" enquired Hotch wearily without moving or opening his eyes.

"Hotch, you clearly aren't thinking straight. There is no way you could have seen Trevor Gordon's violent side from the profile; it didn't show itself until we trapped him with the raid. None of us could have predicted he would even own a gun. And you weren't responsible for getting yourself shot, nor for my being held hostage. Quit blaming yourself!"

Hotch didn't reply. A voice inside of him was telling him to listen to Rossi's words, that his friend was telling him the truth. Moreover, the voice said, he should know better; he was being foolish. _"But I should have seen it coming! I should have known that violence from the brothers was a possibility. If I'd just taken an extra five minutes to think it all through, we would have gone into that house prepared! How can I lead this team..?"_ He struggled to be rational.

Rossi watched his friend closely. He knew that Hotch was having an internal battle. The part of Hotch that was SSA Hotchner, the logical, reasonable persona, was experienced enough to realize that there was no blame in the incident save the actual criminals. But the angry, hurting and confused Aaron was clearly looking for someone to condemn and, because he was a perfectionist, looked no further than himself.

Dave felt helpless. _"I think I'd be of more use if he were feeling sorry for himself, but this self-rebuke... I need to find some way of helping him..."_ Out loud, Rossi asked, "What the hell did you and Dr. MacDonald talk about, if he didn't at least tell you aren't to blame for any of this?"

Hotch shrugged. "I'm not convinced that he can help." he said shortly. "Look, I know I said I thought that I needed some help, but..."

"No 'buts', Hotch." Dave interrupted. "You DO need professional help. And judging from how you looked when you got back from your appointment earlier, I'd say this doc **can** help you. I'd guess that he probably challenged you and you didn't like it. You're stubborn, Aaron. You need someone who isn't afraid to pit his wits against your will."

There was no reaction from the man lying in the bed. Rossi took a breath and carried on, "Besides, you know damn well that in order to get back to work, you're going to need to undergo a psych evaluation. Even a great profiler like you won't pass that without having come to terms with things. So you may as well get used to talking to someone... and getting the most out of your time here in the hospital." And with that, he left Hotch to his brooding.

***

Haley Hotchner put down the phone and turned to her young son who was playing with a train set on the floor of the living-room.

"Jack? That was Uncle David. I've got some great news; it's okay to visit daddy in hospital now."

The trains were forgotten in an instant. Jack jumped up and down, clapping his hands together. "Can we go now, mommy? Pleeeease? Can we? I want to show him my new caboose!"

Haley smiled patiently. "Daddy's resting now, sweetie. But we can go right after dinner, okay?"

Jack looked disappointed. He sat back on the floor and half-heartedly picked up a toy train. Haley smoothed down a piece of his fair hair. _"Just like your father; he's got a renegade lock too"_ she thought absently. She didn't want her son to be sad. She needed to come up with a way of keeping him busy and distracted for the afternoon.

"Jack honey? Why don't you make a nice card for daddy to cheer him up? We can take it with us tonight."

The little boy's big smile returned; he nodded enthusiastically and helped his mother get out the paper and crayons.

***

Hotch had just finished his dinner when he heard a knock at the door. He was out of bed, sitting in the visitor's chair watching the evening news on a wall-mounted television. He looked towards the still-closed door, expecting Rossi to walk in. "Come in..." said Hotch loudly. Slowly, the door began to swing open and Aaron caught a glimpse of a small mop of blond hair. His heart quickened and he smiled. "Hmm, I wonder who could be here?...Sean, have you gotten smaller?"

"NOOOOOO, Daddy! It's me! You're silly!" Jack pushed through the door and threw himself onto his father. Hotch swallowed his painful grunt and wrapped Jack awkwardly in his arms. _"How long has it been since I've held my own son? I've almost forgotten how..."_

"Jack! What did I just tell you??! You're not to jump on daddy; he's still hurt!" Haley was admonishing her son as she closed the door. "Sorry, Aaron... he's just so excited..."

Hotch looked up at his ex-wife, still smiling. "It's okay. It's worth it just to hold him."

Haley took off her coat. "How are you feeling?" she asked, sitting down on the bed.

"Better now Jack is here." he ruffled Jack's hair. "Are you going to take off your jacket and stay, partner?"

Jack nodded happily and struggled out of the coat, dropping it carelessly on the floor. He then settled himself on Hotch's lap, his head on Aaron's chest.

"Seriously, Aaron. We were worried sick. How long will they keep you in hospital?"

Hotch regarded Haley out of the corner of his eye. _"Her concern actually seems sincere, although it could be more for Jack's sake... not sure how much she still cares for her ex-husband. She certainly didn't fight very hard to keep us together." _

Aaron looked affectionately at his dozing little boy. "I'm sorry for scaring you both, I truly am. You know I would never do anything to upset Jack. But as you can see, I'm fine. I hope to be at home soon, then back to the BAU."

Haley bristled at the last words, but she wasn't up for an argument. Instead she said, "Well, now that you're on the mend, I'll make sure that Jack can visit each day, okay?"

"That would be nice."

There was an awkward silence.

"How has he been?" asked Hotch at last. "Dave mentioned you had been here when I was in Critical Care..."

Haley looked at Jack, then back to Aaron. The boy was clutching his father's t-shirt in one hand, but appeared to have fallen asleep. Quietly, she said, "He's been okay for the most part. I wouldn't let him see you while all those tubes were still visible."

Hotch felt a pang of guilt. "Thank you. I wouldn't want him to have seen me like that..." his voice trailed off.

"I wanted to bring him as soon as you were transferred from Critical Care into your own room, but the doctors told us that your life was still in danger and you needed absolute rest... "

Hotch didn't say anything, but contemplated the woman who was once the most important person in his life.

"Aaron, don't look at me like that."

"Like what, Haley?"

"Like you don't believe me. Like I would deliberately keep you from seeing your son."

Again, Hotch maintained his silence, just kept studying her. _"She really doesn't think I know that there was someone else... that my trust is gone..."_ Softly, he said "I hope not. I hope you understand what Jack means to me. He is everything, Haley."

Haley looked away; Hotch thought he saw tears welling up in her eyes. They fell into silence once more. Eventually, having recovered her composure, she faced him once again. "I think you should probably know that Jack has been having some nightmares..."

Hotch frowned and he felt a knot in his stomach. _"No! Why must he suffer for my mistakes?"_

Dreading the answer that he knew would come, Aaron asked, "Since when?"

Haley took a deep breath. "Since your shooting. We were summoned to the hospital that night; they didn't think you were going to make it and they wouldn't let us see you after the initial surgery... so Jack hasn't been able to set his own eyes on you until tonight. I think this visit will really help him though.

The guilt was almost overwhelming. Hotch closed his eyes, his arms tightening around the boy on his lap.

"Anyway, I talked to a child psychiatrist about it, and she is of the opinion that the dreams should get better as you do."

"What can I do?"

Haley felt sorry for her ex-husband; he looked so heart-broken. Haley saw the old Aaron, the man who put his family above all else, the man she had fallen in love with. She tried to sound less accusatory. "Um... well, when you are able, it would be good for Jack to be able to witness that you're okay in a non-hospital setting... so maybe I can bring him over to the house for an afternoon and overnight visit?"

"Of course."

Jack began to stir. His parents turned their attention to him as he wriggled and opened his eyes. He was a little disoriented at first, but it didn't take him long to realize where he was and who he was with. His entire face lit up in a smile as he looked up at his dad. Hotch's heart melted. _"Such innocence..."_ he thought as he looked back at his son.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Jack?"

"I made you something... Uncle Dave said you were a bit sad..." he hopped down and picked his jacket off the floor, rummaging through the pockets.

Hotch made a mental note to have a word with Rossi. He didn't want his young boy worrying about him; the nightmares were bad enough.

Jack finally pulled out a large, rather crumpled homemade card and proudly presented it to Hotch. It had two stick figures on the front, standing in front of a house. The sun was shining and the figures were smiling and holding hands.

"It's me and you, daddy."

"It's fantastic, Jack! I like your hairstyle."

Jack laughed with pleasure. "Are you not sad now?"

"I'm very happy. Just seeing you makes me happy. Jack, I'm sorry that I scared you. I didn't mean to."

Jack stopped laughing and grew serious. "It's okay. **I** knew you were going to be okay. And you got the bad guys! You're the best daddy in the whole world! And Uncle Dave says you're...um..." he struggled for the right word... "b-... b-..."

"Brave." Haley prompted.

"Yes!" exclaimed Jack. "Brave!"

Hotch carefully set the card on his bedside table, leaned forward in the chair and hugged his son. "Thank you. And we will spend some time together as soon as I get out of here, okay?"

Jack beamed and nodded vigorously.

"Jack, honey, we need to let daddy get some rest so that he can get strong again. But before we go, didn't you have something else you wanted to give to him?"

"Oh yeah, I almost forgot!" Jack dug his small hand into his coat once again. Hotch recognized the stack of cards Dave had brought from the BAU some weeks earlier, the card from his team lying on the top of the pile. He forced himself to smile as Jack placed them into his lap.

"Uncle David said that you make lots of people happy, and they are sorry that you are hurt so they sent cards too!" The boy looked at his father in awe. "See, I **TOLD** you you're the best daddy in the world! Look at them all!!!"

Hotch stared at the cards. He didn't want them. He didn't like the fact so many of his colleagues and friends knew of his shooting; it was troubling enough to have his team worrying about him. And he didn't feel brave. But he couldn't disappoint Jack, so he continued to smile and put the cards onto the bed. "I'll open them tomorrow, when I've had a good sleep."

"Okay daddy, but MY card is still the best!"

"Of course it is, Jack. That's why it gets the best place, right here on the table where I can see it."

Jack radiated pride. Haley smiled indulgently at him then glanced at Aaron. She could see that he was tiring.

"Okay you two, bedtime for you both. Jack, say good-night to daddy and put your coat on, please." She said as she donned her own fleece.

Obediently, Jack kissed his father and wrestled himself into his jacket. Hotch helped him to zip it up, gave him a quick hug and watched as the boy skipped to the door and opened it. Haley started to follow, but turned and went over the chair. "Good-night, Aaron. Despite what you seem to think, I DO still care about you and I'm very thankful that you're going to be okay. And Jack will always need his father..." She kissed him gently on the cheek. And with that, the ex-Mrs. Hotchner and her son disappeared into the corridor and were gone.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter ****8**

It was a bright, sunny morning but Aaron Hotchner wasn't interested in the good weather. In fact, a miserable day would have better reflected his mood. He was scheduled to see Dr. MacDonald for his second session and Aaron would have given just about anything to have been able to cancel the appointment. Rossi's words about needing to pass the psych evaluation before resuming his position at the BAU kept repeating in his mind. Hotch knew that Dave was right, and so, in spite of all his misgivings, he sat in a wheelchair waiting for an orderly to take him to the Psychologist's office.

Hotch glanced at the clock on the wall and frowned. If someone didn't come pretty quickly he was going to be late. _"Next time I'll crawl up there myself."_ he told himself, annoyed.

There was a soft knock on the door.

"_Finally!"_ then aloud, "Come in."

There was a pause before the door opened and Ben MacDonald entered, struggling to balance two coffee cups while working the door handle.

"Morning, Aaron." Ben said, offering Hotch one of the cups. "It's okay, I've cleared it with Doc T.; decaf is fine."

Hotch accepted the cup with a nod of thanks. The doctor passed his own cup to his patient, took the brake off the wheelchair and started to push it towards the door.

"I'm your ride... unless you want to talk in here? Nice digs... wow, and great card!"

"It's from my son... and I'd rather meet in your office, if that's alright."

"No problem. I'd imagine that you would appreciate a change of scenery. Too bad it's so cold out; some sunshine would do you some good." Ben said as they went down the corridor.

Aaron spent the brief trip to Ben's office trying to figure out the psychologist's angle. _"Why would he come and get me himself?"_ he wondered.

"Do you always make house calls?" asked Hotch once the two men had settled on either side of the coffee table in the doctor's office.

"Only for my most stubborn clients... you know the ones... those people that you think might not come back otherwise. They give me a bad reputation; bad for business." Ben gave Aaron a brief smile.

Hotch grunted in response and sipped his coffee. It was definitely as bad as Rossi had led him to believe. He set his cup on the table next to his left leg, which was once again propped up on a blanket.

Ben watched him and saw a quick look of pain cross Hotch's face before it was quickly stifled. "How's the calf?"

"Getting there."

Dr. MacDonald, unperturbed, grinned and shook his head. _"This will be a challenge, Ben. Regardless of what he says, this man doesn't want to be here and has built a fortress around himself. Ah well, I always love a challenge... and according to Keith Travis, Agent Hotchner is a man worth the effort." _

When Aaron didn't say anything further, Ben said "It's alright, I get it. Trust must be earned. Fair enough." He put his own coffee cup down on the table. "So let's get started, shall we? How's the temper been?"

"Up and down."

"Have you noticed any particular triggers, Aaron?"

"Not really."

Ben sighed and leaned back in his chair. He brought his fingertips together and contemplated his patient. He became serious. "Agent Hotchner, it may go against your training to divulge information, but in this room, less is not more. If you want my help, you're going to have to give me more than two- word answers. And if you don't want my help, please tell me so that neither of us wastes our time. You do understand that anything you would like to say is treated in complete confidence?"

Hotch nodded. He focussed on his leg so he wouldn't need to meet the doctor's penetrating gaze. He swallowed. "I... Dr. MacDonald, this isn't easy for me. I'm a very private person. However, I would like your advice on regaining control of my emotions."

"You'd like my help?"

"That's what I just said..."

"No, Aaron, you told me you'd like my advice. The two are not the same thing."

Frowning, Hotch looked out the window. _"He's right, Aaron. You can't keep dodging his questions or playing word games; he's far too intelligent for that."_

Ben leaned forward in his chair. "Before you're able to accept my help, you are going to need to admit that you need it...to yourself. Right now you're still in denial about a lot of things, but let's start with denial over requiring some assistance."

The doctor sensed Hotch's internal struggle. He knew the Agent wanted help but didn't know how to ask for it without feeling like he was letting himself down. It was one of the infuriating things about being a psychologist... watching your patients fight themselves without being able to intervene. Whatever he said would not matter until Aaron was ready to listen, and that wouldn't happen until the internal battle was over. All that Ben could do was to try to give the Agent the confidence to be honest with himself.

"Aaron? You can do this. You're an incredibly strong individual, physically and mentally... it's well documented in your FBI file, your team tell me the same and heaven knows you've proven it to your doctors. Let me help you."

More silence. Hotch was still staring unseeingly out of the window. His arms were folded across his chest in a protective pose. Aaron seemed unaware of his body language, but Ben noticed it immediately. He tried a different tact.

"Tell me, how are you with computers and IT stuff?"

The question threw Hotch off guard. "Average, I'd guess."

"And when you need that type of information during a case, what do you do?"

"I ask our technical analyst to get it for me."

"So you ask for his/her help?"

"Her. And yes."

"And you're not thinking that she will think less of you when you call her?"

"Of course not."

"Because?"

Hotch could see where this was leading and cursed himself for falling into such an obvious trap. Reluctantly, he said, "Because it is what she has been trained to do and she excels in that area."

"So if you follow that logic, then surely I'm no different? I'm just a trained professional in an area in which you lack experience and detailed knowledge."

"Yes, but..."

Ben shook his head. "No, Aaron, no 'buts'. Now, do we carry on or shall I take you back to your room?"

The voice inside his head was urging Hotch to stay. _"Come on Aaron, you know this man is exceptional at what he does. Give him a chance; you're not making any progress on your own. You simply can't afford to lose your temper at work or around Jack..."_ He turned to look the doctor fully in the eye and gritted his teeth.

"Dr. MacDonald, I would like… I need… your help…"

***

And with that admission Dr. MacDonald explained that his primary function was to ask lots of questions; pertinent questions which would allow his client to identify the causes and effects of the major issues that were contributing to his distress. Ben aimed to ensure that Hotch explored these triggers and consequences honestly so that the two men, working together, could come up with realistic and sustainable strategies for behaviour change. To Hotch, it all sounded too much like a textbook.

"But at the end of the day, Agent Hotchner, you are the one that needs to genuinely want your behaviour to change, to believe that you **can** change, and to act upon those beliefs; I cannot do it for you."

Hotch was noncommittal. "I understand."

"I hope so… Would you like anything before we begin? A drink maybe?" Ben walked over to his desk, picked up a pad of paper and a bottle of water, and held the latter up to Hotch. Aaron declined and the psychologist returned to his chair.

It was the first time that the doctor had taken notes and it was a little disconcerting to Hotch. Something about written notes detailing his thoughts was very unsettling. His discomfort must have shown in his body language; Ben said "not to worry, Aaron. I write notes only sporadically; my own sentiments based on what you've said. Besides, I've always been told that my writing is completely illegible."

Aaron wasn't convinced, but let it go. "Let's just get started, doctor."

"Alright, as you wish. How about going back to the real reason that you've come to see me..?"

"As I believe I mentioned at our first meeting, I'm experiencing some difficulty controlling my temper."

"Given the trauma that you've been through, there is going to be some anger. It is natural and part of the healing process. Why is this so troubling for you?" Ben asked.

Hotch was reminded of the stages of recovery that the psychologist had brought up in their first session. Anger, depression, and denial were all to be expected. _"But not to the point that I lose total control."_ thought Aaron. He looked at the man waiting expectantly across from him, debating on how much to say. "As BAU Chief, I am constantly making decisions; decisions that may mean life or death for my team and/or the people that we are trying to save. Often, the hardest decisions are under pressure, in the field. To do the right thing and make the correct choice, I have to keep my emotions out of it."

Ben nodded for Hotch to continue.

"For everyone to be effective and to return physically unscathed, the team needs their leader to keep a cool head in dangerous circumstances. They need stability, not unpredictability."

The doctor had worked with enough law enforcement personnel to know that teams like this functioned on trust. He had heard about the BAU team members' from Dr. Travis. There would be no lack of trust from any of them towards Aaron; they all held him in the highest regard and their faith in their leader was absolute. The fact that Hotchner had been injured only strengthened these sentiments. According to the team, the bad bust had been a fluke; there had been no poor decisions. And more importantly, despite his injuries, Agent Hotchner had kept his calm throughout the ordeal, even diffusing a potentially lethal situation when one of the hostage takers held a gun to his head in full view of the rest of his colleagues. _"I need to get Aaron to see the conviction of his squad. It will help his confidence and remove some stress; that in turn should aid his emotional control."_

"Aaron, what are your thoughts about the incident that resulted in your injuries?"

Hotch shifted uncomfortably in his chair, moving his sore leg slightly. "I still can't remember..."

"You don't feel anything, regardless of your memory loss? No anger? No jealousy? Nothing at all?" Ben pushed.

Hotch was impressed in spite of himself. The doctor had the uncanny knack of seeing right through him._ "He'd make a good profiler; there is no fooling him. He's relentless with the questions too..." _ Aaron thought for a moment, again weighing how much to divulge. In the end, he answered, "I have some images, but I can't piece it all together enough to give you much of an opinion on what happened. I know that I made a mistake with the profile that got me shot and almost cost a good friend his life. The team did a great job at getting us out. Nothing else really matters." It was delivered in a monotone. Hotch was looking out the window again, arms still folded.

Dr. MacDonald considered his client. The agent's self-doubt and disappointment were almost palpable. Ben sighed to himself. This was not going to be easy. Aaron had made up his mind that he was at fault. Getting him to realize otherwise was going to be a long and difficult road.

"And what do your colleagues think?"

Silence.

"Agent?"

More silence.

"Is it safe to say that they disagree with your assessment?" the doctor questioned. "Perhaps one of them confronted you, triggering a loss of temper..?"

Clearly, Aaron did not want to discuss the issue. The silence lengthened. Ben waited patiently. His patient needed to talk in his own time, or not at all.

Finally, Hotch relented. Without any demonstrable emotion, he recounted his latest visit with Agent Rossi. He spoke in short, factual sentences. He told about his memory being triggered by Dave's bracelet and his subsequent outburst towards his colleague.

"Doctor, this is what I mean... this is why I need your help... if I can't regain control, I'm no longer good to the BAU. And at the moment, I'm not competent to be their leader. They need someone that they can trust to stay calm and resilient..."

The puzzle regarding the source of Agent Hotchner's temper was taking shape. The Unit Chief's frustration at his perceived bad judgement at the bust, his guilt over Rossi's capture, and loss of both his emotional control and physical independence would certainly fuel anyone's fire, no matter how small. And yet the Psychologist sensed that there was something even more profound lying deeper within his patient; he needed to try to find what it was.

Up until now, Aaron had only mentioned work-related things. It was obvious that he was extremely dedicated to his colleagues and to his job, but what was even more revealing was what the Agent did not say. _"He hasn't mentioned his family yet."_ mused Ben.

"Aaron, may I ask you something?"

Hotch met the doctor's eyes and he raised an eyebrow.

"You're an experienced FBI agent. You've had the occasion to work with psychiatrists and psychologists so you'll know first-hand that it takes time to heal from trauma, both mentally and physically. In the overall picture, you are only in the beginning of your recovery. Case in point, you're not able to walk unaided just yet." Ben looked pointedly at Hotch's leg resting on the coffee table.

"And your meaning, doctor?" Hotch asked guardedly.

"It strikes me that you are running away from something. Otherwise, what is the big rush to return to work and not allow yourself the time to heal properly?"

Aaron glanced away, frowning. "I'm not running away from anything. I'm trying to face up to my problem... my temper. That is why I'm here!" he said in exasperation. "As for going back to work, there are lots of people out there who need the help of the BAU."

Dr. MacDonald did not mention the fact that the team had returned to work even though their leader was currently out of commission. Instead, he changed track again. "Agent, what motivates you to do what you do?"

Hotch had intended on keeping talk of his family out of these sessions, but the question seemed fairly innocuous. "My son." he said simply.

Ben smiled. "Family; I can't think of better motivation. It is something we share, Aaron. As much as I enjoy what I do, I have some long days. My two kids... you'll have noticed their pictures on my desk?.. remind me of why I am here. You have just the one child?"

"Yes."

"How old is..?"

Aaron felt a surge of guilt that he had to stop and think for a brief minute, "Jack is four."

"My eldest is nine, youngest six. They live with their mother so I don't see them as often as I should." Ben watched his client for any reaction. Hotch's facial expression gave nothing away, although the doctor thought he detected a slight softening in his eyes. _"He's relating to that..."_

The easing of Aaron's body language told Ben just how much the boy meant to his father. He knew that the agent was divorced; it was in his FBI file. He also was aware that Aaron would expect Ben to know this already, having possession of the file. What Ben didn't know was the circumstance surrounding the divorce, other than the snippets he had gleaned from his brief chat with Agent Rossi prior to Hotch's first session. However, the doctor's intuition was that this client would do anything for his son, so he suspected that divorce and loss of custody would not have been something Aaron entered into lightly... or willingly. Moreover, Ben knew all-too well that divorce leaves lasting scars, scars that can be buried deep within a person. It would certainly answer the Agent's strong desire to return to work so quickly; he was indeed running away. _"But how to get Aaron to see that he is potentially avoiding dealing with his divorce..?"_ pondered the Psychologist. _"Alright, one step at a time, let's keep him in the present, let's get him over this negative spiral of self-doubt, frustration and anger..."_ He returned to the issue of anger management.

"How has Jack taken your shooting?" Dr. MacDonald asked gently.

Hotch's reply was almost unnecessary. Ben could see the sudden sadness and guilt which appeared in the Agent's eyes. "He, um... he..." Hotch took a moment to gather himself. "He's experiencing some nightmares."

Aaron looked almost pleadingly at the doctor. "Haley has taken him to a child psychologist, who seems to think that the dreams will get better as I do..?"

Ben nodded vigorously, "yes, that's true in the majority of instances. You'll be able to help speed the process once you're released from hospital. Jack will be able to see his dad do the 'normal dad things' again and that should ease his anxiety." He paused, "Have you been able to see him yet?"

There was a short affirmative nod.

"How did it go?"

Hotch's frown disappeared and the traces of a smile appeared for an instant before being replaced by the now-familiar controlled, neutral expression. "It was fine..." Aaron knew this was insufficient, that he was talking as one father to another. He added, "It was an unbelievable feeling to hold him again." He briefly described the visit but selectively left out mention of the stack of get-well cards and his exchanges with Haley.

Ben stroked his chin thoughtfully. He didn't comment, simply scribbled a few words on his pad of paper. Even though there had been no emotional eruption during the visit, the doctor could sense that Aaron was holding something back from his narrative._ "What aren't you telling me, besides reference to that big pile of get-well cards I saw in your room?"_ he thought. Ben recognized that his patient was well-versed in avoidance techniques and would look to deflect attention from the deeper issues.

Hotch was suddenly weary from the constant questioning and the care with which he was taking in forming his answers. He knew that the self-profile that he had meticulously planned to project in the Psychologist's presence would soon start to crack. He needed the session to end soon; he had already imparted more information than intended. Before he could act, however, Ben posed one last question and it brought Hotch back from his thoughts with a jerk.

"Aaron, are you afraid of losing your temper with Jack?"

The question was like a thunderbolt; Hotch flinched involuntarily. Ben had his answer.

Several minutes passed in silence. The doctor used the time to study his patient. He knew that he had hit a raw nerve but he had needed to shake things up. He was aware that he was being played, that Aaron was consciously or unconsciously being very deliberate and limiting in what he said. He was giving the impression of a man in control, whose sole issue was a quick temper inappropriate in the work setting. It was a great underestimation of the depth of pain that the Agent needed to work through. This was not a good start, and would not work in the long run; but worse than his attempt to deceive his psychologist, Aaron was deceiving himself.

"Agent Hotchner," Dr. MacDonald looked sternly at the man sat opposite him.

Hotch didn't move, nor respond.

"Aaron! I need you to listen to me. To listen, and to hear what I'm about to say."

Slowly, Hotch's eyes met those of his doctor. _"He's totally exhausted."_ observed Ben, _"Not a surprise... it takes an incredible amount of energy to try to ignore your deepest feelings."_ He re-assumed his firm tone,

"Aaron, you are a strong, intelligent man and I'm sure your performance today would have been very successful in an interrogation or courtroom. Your apparent control is commendable." Ben paused, "But it was a guise for the most part. While you told me the truth, in-so-far as you went, you refused to take a long, hard look at the deeper issues. You ARE running away from something, and I have my suspicions as to what that is. I CAN help you, Agent, but as I said at the beginning of this session, you must first want to help yourself. Nobody said this was going to be a quick fix, nor an easy one. So I'm going to challenge you to look past the obvious, superficial problems. Until you can do that, until you can be completely honest with yourself, things are NOT going to change..." Ben got up and put the pad of paper onto his desk.

"Now it's obvious that you're tired, so let's leave it there for today. I'll call for an orderly to take you back to your room."

For a minute, Hotch didn't move. He was disappointed in himself. His strategy to stick to the facts had backfired and he had underestimated Dr. MacDonald's skill. Furthermore, he knew the doctor was right, but admitting his real motivation for a speedy return to work... he wasn't even sure he was ready to admit it to himself. It would be yet one more failure to add to his growing list. Wearily, he hauled himself off of the couch and into the wheelchair.


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter ****9**

The day was shaping up to be one to forget for Aaron Hotchner. Things seemed to go from bad to worse from Hotch's point of view. When he was returned to his hospital room following the disastrous session with the Psychologist, he was subjected to yet another round of respiratory and blood tests. These analyses left him feeling like he'd just blown up a room full of balloons and donated an ocean of blood but he had only just enough time for lunch and a brief nap before he needed to be ready for two more appointments. Even the sleep failed to refresh him; Hotch's dream about Jack was replaced by haunting images. He was in a house, sitting with his back against a wall. There was a large pool of blood on the floor next to him and a man was shouting and pointing a gun at him. He felt like his side and his calf were both on fire. Hotch awoke in a cold sweat. It took him a few minutes to realize that the house belonged to the Gordon brothers and that the blood was his own. It left him slightly disoriented. _'Not a good way to begin the afternoon'_, he thought as an orderly appeared to wheel him away.

The first engagement was a fitness session with his exercise physiologist. Meagan had progressed Aaron from the pool into a room containing a treadmill, some weight machines and other loose pieces of equipment. She seemed pleased with his recovery, citing the fact that he now had full range of motion when bending forward and stressing his abdomen and could also bring his toes towards his shin if seated. His strength was improving too; he'd been given separate exercises to do on his own time. Nevertheless, Hotch was frustrated. He desperately needed to be able to walk again, to gain back some independence. His hospital room was becoming more and more like a prison each day.

It seemed that perhaps today would be more encouraging; when the orderly had left, Meagan gave him her customary grin, "So, Mr. FBI, are you up for a bit of a challenge?"

Hotch gave her a small, determined smile in return. "Ready...although perhaps I should have asked what you had in mind, first?"

Meagan laughed. "You don't trust me yet?" she teased, winking at him.

Hotch grunted. "Bring it on, Meagan. I need to get moving!"

"Such impatience!" the physiologist said, mocking her client. As she chatted, she rummaged through a cupboard and came back with a pair of crutches. She eyed up Hotch, made some quick adjustments in the length of each crutch, and handed them to him while she began clearing a walking path.

In his eagerness to proceed on his own, and in his attention to his injured calf, Aaron completely forgot that he was still weak from his other injuries. As he put the crutches under his arms and attempted to rise from the wheelchair, his upper body collapsed, causing him to lose his balance and topple to the floor. He shook his head in self-disgust. _'Aaron, you're an idiot.'_

"Aaron! Are you okay? You're supposed to let me help you up first!" admonished Meagan lightly. She bent down and between the crutches and her support, Hotch managed to get to his feet. Tentatively and somewhat shakily, he put his good leg forward. Meagan was at his side, ready to steady him if necessary. His balance held. _'Ok, so far so good.'_ He gritted his teeth to try again. Gingerly, he began to set his weight down on the injured lead leg.

"Use the crutch to take some of your body weight..." advised Meagan. Hotch heeded the advice and although his calf was stiff and painful, his balance held again.

"Hey! Look at you! Fantastic job!" The words of encouragement rang in his ears. _'Finally!'_

The physiologist let him rest for a minute before measuring out a few of her own paces. "Okay, let's see if you can make it from here to the window. That should be about five steps with each leg. Now take your time! If you need to rest, then do so... you'll need to pay attention, Mr. FBI or you'll end up on your butt again..."

Hotch looked at the distance to the window, glanced at Meagan and nodded. Frowning in concentration he painstakingly took a step, then another, then another. After what seemed like an eternity, Aaron found himself looking out at a bleak, wintry day. He was about to congratulate himself when something caught his attention. Looking out the window again, he saw a group of people huddled around an SUV, some four stories below. _'What's so odd about that?'_ he asked himself, turning away and preparing for the return trip towards his care worker. He took a step. All of a sudden he felt the sensation of cold metal to his temple. He frowned. _'What the..?'_ Hotch started to lead again with a crutch and his opposite leg. The sensation returned, this time bringing with it nausea and dizziness. He stopped.

Meagan noticed his hesitation. "Aaron? You okay? Those steps are looking good, just take your time."

Hotch swallowed his rising uneasiness. _'What is going on with me??! Ok, Aaron, just breathe and try again. You're fine.' _ He lifted a crutch and was about to set it down when he froze. An image had appeared in his mind to join the other feelings. He was standing in the window of the Gordon house, looking down on his team. Trevor Gordon had a gun to his head and was threatening to kill him if Agent Morgan didn't give him what he wanted. His younger team members were looking up at him, pure terror etched on their faces. Hotch had never been so sure that he was about to die as in that moment...

"Aaron? Hey, Aaron, what's the matter? Talk to me!" Meagan had watched her client make it successfully to the window. He had taken a breather, turned around and had begun his return towards her when he had stopped, crutch in mid-air. The look on his face suggested confusion and fear; he was literally frozen in mid-step. She rushed to him and was just in time to catch him as he collapsed.

"Oh my god! Aaron! Hey, come on, wake up!" Then she yelled, "I need some help in here!"

***

"Wha... Wha... What happened?" Hotch asked groggily, trying to sit up. Gentle hands restrained him.

"Easy, Aaron, just lie still. You decided that apparently I wasn't paying you enough attention, so you passed out on me." Hotch recognized Meagan's voice, although it still sounded far away. _'I did what??! Why would I..?'_ And then it came back to him... the memory from the bust. He opened his eyes and turned his head to the voice. He was lying on the floor of the exercise room, Meagan crouched anxiously beside him. She had propped his legs up on an aerobic step and covered them with a blanket. A doctor that Hotch didn't recognize was talking into a cell phone, casting frequent glances in his direction.

"I'm sorry. I must have scared you..." Hotch said to Meagan.

"Nah, it takes more than that, Mr. FBI." but he saw that her hands were shaking as she adjusted his blanket. "But I am a little confused... you were doing great, taking your time, and then all of a sudden you just froze in mid step and boom! Down you went. Do you know what happened?"

Hotch didn't want to say anything, but he felt he owed the physiologist some explanation. "I suddenly felt dizzy. I had a long morning and I guess I've just overdone it. Meagan, I really am sorry, it was completely my fault. Please don't look so guilty."

Meagan tried to smile through her concern. "It's okay. The doc over there has checked you over and says you'll be fine... You won't even need to skip tomorrow's session, so be prepared to work hard to make it up to me."

Hotch looked over at the doctor. He had finished his phone conversation and was walking towards them.

"Agent Hotchner? I'm Dr. Peters. How are you feeling now?"

"Much better thank you. I just got a little dizzy. I'm fine now."

The doctor looked sceptical. "Well, just to be sure, we're going to take you back to your room and run a couple of tests. I've talked to Dr. Travis and he'll meet you there." He turned to Meagan. "You ok to stay with the Agent? The Orderly should be here shortly." And without waiting for an answer he turned and left the room.

***

Dr. Travis took the head of the stethoscope off of Hotch's chest, removed its tips from his ears and wrapped the instrument back around his neck. He pulled up the visitor's chair and sat down, surveying his patient. He had performed a full examination of Aaron's calf, abdomen and ribs and listened to the Agent's heart and lungs. He had taken blood pressure and done an EKG. Nothing was out of the ordinary; the injuries were healing well.

"Well, Aaron, the good news is that there don't seem to be any after-effects from your fainting spell... Now tell me again what you felt just before you lost consciousness."

"I had a flashback from the bust..." Hotch scratched his head. "It came out of nowhere... made me feel dizzy and nauseous so I stopped momentarily and the sensations went away. I was just putting out the crutch to walk again..." His brow furrowed. "Sorry, that's all I remember... Meagan could probably tell you the rest."

"And how do you feel now?"

"Fine."

"Agent.??"

Hotch sighed. "I'm not trying to deceive you, doctor. Really, I'm alright."

Dr. Travis was quiet for a minute, thinking. He had anticipated that Agent Hotchner would start to get his memory back, but the degree of physiological response accompanying those flashbacks had come as a surprise. "I'd like you to chat with Dr. MacDonald about this." he said. "When is your next session?"

Aaron didn't like the tone of the doctor's voice. He frowned. "What's the matter? What has you concerned? You said my condition hasn't changed..?"

"It hasn't." soothed Dr. Travis. "But maybe Ben can help to identify some potential triggers so we don't scare any more hospital staff..?" he tried to joke.

Hotch thought there was more to the doctor's explanation but surprisingly, he agreed with the idea of talking to the Psychologist so he didn't push it. _'It will be different this time; we'll only need to discuss the facts of the incident.' _he consoled himself.

"And in the meantime, Aaron, try to get some rest. I've talked to Kyle and rescheduled your physiotherapy for tomorrow morning. I think you've had enough excitement for one day."

***

Hotch had to admit that he was exhausted. He had slept fitfully, his mind a confused haze of memories, from his childhood, the Academy, the courtroom and the BAU. He had awoken feeling like he had gone six rounds with a professional boxer.

Kyle had been less than sympathetic to Aaron's fatigue. The physiotherapist had started with some range of motion and strength exercises paying special attention on the abdominal area. Hotch discovered muscles he previously never knew he had. He also learned, much to his chagrin, that the stomach muscles were involved in just about every movement imaginable. Consequently, he welcomed Kyle's suggestion to focus the end-of-session's massage on his bad leg. Once lying on the bed, Hotch gritted his teeth and made it through the deep tissue kneading on his healing calf.

"Gee, that's looking good, Aaron! I figured after your crutch-walking yesterday, your calf would be much tighter."

Hotch merely grunted, enjoying the brief reprieve from the torture as his Physiotherapist poured some more lotion onto his hands.

Kyle grinned. "Well, since we still have some time, why don't I work on your upper body? Most people who have difficulty breathing will bend over slightly; I think you'll probably find that after all these weeks, the muscles of your shoulder and chest will be **really** tight."

"You sound almost pleased." said Aaron. "Aren't there some stretches you can do?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't enjoy inflicting pain on my clients..."

There was another grunt from the prone figure on the bed.

"And no, stretching alone isn't going to get that arm ready to shoot a gun again. So, turn over, take off your t-shirt, please and I'll get started."

Hotch sighed inwardly and rolled over onto his back. He struggled to get his shirt over his head. _'Just great.'_ he thought bitterly. _'Can't get my own shirt off and my abs are already killing me. That should help my balance on the crutches later on.'_

He closed his eyes as Kyle began working on his chest, fingers probing for knots and applying strong pressure to release them. If Hotch thought that this area would be any less painful than his leg, he was sadly mistaken. It was agony. He tried to think of Jack, once again turning to pleasant imagery to escape current pain. The technique worked well for a few minutes. However, as Kyle began massaging the area around Aaron's left collarbone Hotch had another and very sudden flashback. In it, Morgan was leaning over him, looking extremely worried and yelling at him to 'hang on'. Hotch could feel Derek's hands loosening his tie and the Kevlar vest; he felt cold and wasn't getting enough air into his lungs.

"Aaron?!! What's the matter?!! AARON?!!"

Hotch returned to the present with a jerk, only to find himself shaking uncontrollably. _'What IS going on with me??!'_ and seeing Kyle's panicked look, muttered "I'm okay, I'm okay."

The physiotherapist wasn't buying that Agent Hotchner was anywhere near being okay; he knew the signs of shock when he saw them and had already called for help and grabbed a blanket. Hotch tried to sit up but found he was still trembling and was also finding breathing difficult.

"Oh no you don't!" said Kyle firmly. He adjusted the massage bed so that Hotch was seated semi-upright and covered him with the blanket. "Try to relax, Aaron, Dr.T's on his way."

Hotch closed his eyes and concentrated on bringing his breathing back under control. Frustration was threatening to engulf him. _'What is going on?!! This can't be a normal part of recovery; something's wrong and I'd better figure it out fast; it's getting worse.'_

***

When Agent Rossi arrived at the hospital later that evening, he found an irritable Hotchner. Fortunately for Dave, a nurse had stopped him prior to his entering Hotch's room and warned him that the patient was not in a good mood and had had a rough couple of days. Rossi braced himself, knocked on the door and entered.

Hotch was sitting in the visitor's chair; it had been turned to face the window and Rossi could see Aaron's reflection in the glass. He was staring straight ahead, but his eyes were alert and judging from the familiar frown, Hotch was deep in thought.

"Hotch?" said Dave softly so he didn't startle his friend.

Hotch turned his head to look briefly at Rossi then shifted back to the window. "Dave."

'_Uh oh.'_ thought Rossi. "Heard you've had a nasty couple of days..?"

The figure in the chair didn't move. "I've had better." it said.

"Want to talk about it?"

After a long moment, Hotch replied "Not really." He slowly got to his feet and spun the chair around. It was obvious that he was in some pain but doing his best not to show it. As he got into bed and indicated that Dave should take the chair, he said "But I do need to ask you some questions."

"Okay... but are you sure you're up to it? You're looking a bit..." he was cut off by a glare from Hotch. Rossi sighed resignedly. "How can I help?"

"Tell me about a gun being held to my head by Trevor Gordon."

"Hotch, I don't see how..." again Rossi received a scowl. "Okay, okay."

"And Dave?"

"Yeah, Hotch?"

"Don't leave anything out this time."

***

Ten minutes later and Hotch wasn't feeling any better; worse, in fact. _'I should have done more!'_ he kept thinking. _'The team needed me... Morgan needed my help...but he shouldn't have been put in that position in the first place. If only I'd thought the profile through, there wouldn't have been any need for a negotiator!'_

Rossi was concerned. Hotch had grilled him for all details. Dave had tried to emphasize the fact that Aaron had remained incredibly calm and diffused the situation, saving both of their lives. He hoped that Hotch would take some solace in it, but it appeared to have had the direct opposite effect. Aaron was sitting up, head down so that Rossi couldn't see his face. But the body language told of a man full of guilt and disappointment.

"Hotch? You're not thinking of trying to blame yourself for having a gun to your head?!"

Hotch raised his head and met Rossi's eyes. "It all comes back to me. The profile was incomplete and I didn't see it. I should have known better. Then there wouldn't have been any hostages and Morgan wouldn't have been forced into negotiation. It was my responsibility..."

Rossi held up his hand, interjecting, "I won't let you do this, Hotch. I won't stand by and see you self-destruct. I know you're angry and frustrated with this whole thing. But Aaron, the only people you should be blaming are the Gordons. I know that part of you understands that but I can't seem to reach that bit of your brain. So I'll say it again... Based on the information we had, our profile was solid. There was no way to predict that kind of desperation and violence."

"I wish I could believe that." Hotch said faintly, looking away.

"Hotch, what's happened? Something is troubling you. What's the significance of that bit of the bust?" asked Rossi quietly.

A full five minutes passed in silence. Rossi had given up on receiving an answer and was about to change topics when Hotch raised his head and turned towards his visitor.

"I'm getting flashbacks." He said in his customary low tone.

"Okay. So you're getting your memory back. That's a positive thing, isn't it?"

Hotch shook his head in confusion. "I'm not sure... I'd heard that it was a good indication of recovery..." his voice dropped to a whisper, "I was even prepared to deal with the nightmares, but..."

Rossi leaned forward and took hold of his friend's hand. He met no resistance which was not a good sign. "But..?" he encouraged gently. "Talk to me, Hotch. I'm your friend and I want to help."

Dave could see Aaron steel himself. _'Dammit, I've lost him again!'_

But Hotch surprised the older agent. "I... I... I keep passing out." He faltered.

Rossi waited for further explanation. When none was forthcoming, he prompted, "Honestly, Aaron, that doesn't surprise me. Lately, it seems like you've been overdoing it. Now your body is trying to tell you something."

Hotch shook his head. "No Dave, it's not that simple. On both occasions, I've had a flashback just prior to blacking out." He paused and studied Rossi. He was unsure he wanted to continue. _'He'll think that I'll need more tests...'_

Rossi squeezed the hand that he was holding. Hotch closed his eyes. He needed to trust someone and Dave was the closest friend he had. Hotch also knew that Dave wouldn't repeat the conversation to anyone at the Bureau.

"... and I've felt the physical aspect of the memory..."

"I'm sorry, I don't follow."

Hotch's dark eyes gazed steadfastly into Dave's. "I mean, I could actually **feel** the metal of Gordon's gun against my temple."

Rossi felt momentarily dazed but quickly regained his composure. "You said 'flashback**s**', plural. What were the others?"

Having gotten the initial incident off his chest, Hotch figured he may as well continue. "I remembered the end of the bust. Morgan was telling me the paramedics were on their way. He was trying to take off my Kevlar and tie... I wasn't feeling so well..."

"No kidding." said Rossi sarcastically. "Okay, what happened when you came to?"

"I'd lost control of my breathing and..." Hotch swallowed, "I was shaking... Dave, I couldn't stop..."

Dave looked grimly at Aaron. They both understood the seriousness of the implications if these experiences continued. Hotch would not be allowed back on active duty if there was any risk to himself or to others. Losing consciousness with no warning definitely constituted such risk.

Hotch smiled dryly at his friend. "Now aren't you glad you asked?"

"Actually, Hotch" Rossi said sincerely, "yes, I am. You aren't on your own; we're going to get you through this."

"And how do you suggest we do that?"

"You need to talk to Ben MacDonald."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 10**

The hospital garden was covered with a layer of fresh snow. A weak wintery sun filtered through a thin layer of cloud. The forecast was for another major storm but for now, all was quiet. Hotch continued to look out of the window, contemplating his answer to Dr. MacDonald's question. Almost ten days had passed since the first flashback. He had continued to have the same scenes replayed in his dreams and occasionally during waking hours. He had not lost consciousness since his episode with Kyle, but otherwise, the physiological responses had been equally severe.

Hotch's mental state was gradually deteriorating. His outbursts had lessened; instead, with each nightmare, he had shown increasing signs of despondency. Despite his sustained physical improvements (his internal organs were completely healed and he was now ambulatory with a walker and, for short distances, unaided) Rossi and Dr. Travis were concerned. The doctor had persuaded his colleague to return early from a psychology conference to see Agent Hotchner.

Ben was dismayed at the change in his patient. The man looked tired. Self-disappointment and doubt were more pronounced than in previous visits, although the denial seemed to have moved to the background. Watching Aaron stare out of the office window, the psychologist knew that he had to get through soon, before the agent fell any deeper into depression.

"Aaron? Did you hear me?"

It took a great deal to put Hotch on edge, but he had to admit, he was troubled. _'No, Aaron, more than that, you're scared.'_ Physically, he was feeling much better and knew his strength was returning, albeit it slowly. But the blackouts were another matter... _'Why is this happening? If I'm getting stronger, why can't I stop myself from overreacting to these images? What if...no, I can't think that way... but...'_

"Agent Hotchner!"

Startled from his thoughts, Hotch turned away from the window and slowly limped back to the couch. Dr. MacDonald waited patiently.

"Sorry, doctor."

"Not a problem; you've got a lot on your mind. But I need you to answer my question... what has happened since our last visit that would have Doc Travis summon me back to town?"

Aaron's eyes narrowed. "I wasn't aware that you were away. I'm sorry to have been the cause of you having to come back to Virginia early. If I had known..."

"Never mind all that. Don't change the subject. Answer my question, Aaron." Ben looked fixedly at his client. At the end of the last session he had tried to appeal to the agent's pride, issuing him the challenge of exploring his deeper feelings. He hoped that he would see some progress; this next answer would tell him how much, if any, had been made.

Hotch met the doctors eyes. He was worried enough to give a detailed and honest account of both blackout incidents. Ben took some notes while Aaron spoke, his voice staying level. When he'd finished, Hotch clasped his hands on his lap and, still maintaining eye contact, asked "Doctor... this can't be normal? I was expecting nightmares and flashbacks, but passing out? What's going on with my head?"

Despite the quiet demeanour, Dr. MacDonald detected fear. Rather than answer the patient, however, Ben asked a question of his own.

"What are you afraid of, Aaron?"

Hotch's arms seemed to automatically fold across his chest. He frowned, then sighed. He was too tired for a fight. "I don't suppose you'd accept that I'm not afraid?"

Ben shook his head. Hotch took a deep breath.

"I'm worried that if I continue to have these blackouts, I won't be allowed to return to work. I'll be risking the lives of my team if I freeze or lose consciousness all of a sudden."

"And?"

"And???"

Ben tilted his head and shook it again. Hotch looked away, back towards the window. In a voice that didn't seem to be his own, he said, "And... and I'm afraid... I'm afraid enough that I don't want to sleep, don't want to stress myself in physiotherapy or my fitness sessions in case I pass out... I'm afraid because I don't understand what is happening to me. I'm supposed to be getting stronger, yet mentally I seem to be getting weaker."

It was a start, although a small one. The Psychologist breathed a silent sigh of relief. Finally, he had observed some honest introspection. Aaron's admission of fear was just the tip of the iceberg. Ben idly tapped his pen against the notepad, debating on how hard to push. If he went too far, the agent would retreat behind his wall again. But without challenge, Aaron wouldn't face up to the real issues...

"Aaron, you're not getting weaker. Your acknowledgement of being scared is proof of that. You couldn't have done that a week ago. I'm proud of you. But we're only beginning here, okay? Now, tell me how the memories made you feel emotionally."

Hotch clenched his jaw and closed his eyes. _'This is worse than getting shot.'_ he thought. "It made me feel guilty... I know the bust is my fault, so why do I seem intent on rubbing it in?"

"What did you feel guilty about in each episode? Was it the same both times? Try to be specific."

Aaron thought hard. The images returned... the gun to his head... the looks on the faces of his young team... Morgan's voice, full of concern... Morgan, loosening his tie... "I should have done more." he murmured. Ben watched his client intently. Hotch seemed to be replaying the flashbacks; his eyes were still closed. The doctor didn't want to break the thread so he said nothing.

"I should have seen the profile was incomplete... we should have been more prepared. Morgan shouldn't have been put in that position...shouldn't have needed to see his boss like that... I should have found a way to help him..."

"Aaron?" Dr. MacDonald had heard enough.

Hotch opened his eyes and looked at his doctor. Ben saw the guilt and hurt.

"Aaron, you need to talk to Agent Morgan."

"Why do you say that?"

"Because he is the key figure in your memories. Of all of your team, he is front and centre. I think you need to hear his take on what happened... hear it and believe it."

"How will that help my blackouts?" Hotch looked unconvinced and not at all happy with the idea of discussing anything so personal with Morgan.

"I think you have seen the last of your blackouts. I think they were a way for your body to kick you up the butt. They got you to pay attention to what your mind has been telling you but you've been ignoring. In other words, you've had a physical reaction to a psychological issue. It is similar with your other physical responses, the freezing, shaking, etc... It is my opinion that they are manifestations of the denial you've had towards the severity of your injuries. If you start to admit to yourself how badly you've been hurt, how close you came to death, I believe that any further 'attacks', for lack of a better word, will be lessened."

'_Can it really be so simple?'_ thought Hotch to himself. He highly doubted it. Aloud, he said, "And my temper?"

"Ah yes... your temper. This one isn't going to be so easy. You're angry at yourself, Aaron, although it is clear to everyone, including a part of you, that this rage, with its perceptions of blame, is misplaced. Your rational side is losing the battle against all of the negative feelings of doubt and guilt and it is coming out as anger." The doctor paused. "And I don't happen to think that it's a simple case of you just projecting this fury outwards... I believe that you're also extremely scared, but being angry is an easier, 'stronger' emotion to show to others."

Hotch's first instinct was to refute the analysis. _'I don't feel angry! I feel frustrated, but not angry or aggressive... Surely fear can't be the underlying cause of all of my outbursts? That doesn't seem right; I have more self-control than that; I've been much more afraid during my life and not acted this way...'_

Ben continued, "Furthermore, Aaron, it is not just the return to work that has you so terrified, although that is what you would like me to believe. You are petrified of failure, but in a very specific context... and I think you know exactly what I'm referring to..."

Not for the first time, Hotch wished he were invisible. Dr. Ben MacDonald had earned his respect. Never before had Aaron encountered an individual who could so easily see into a soul. He thought he had buried that single fear deep down, where not even he could touch it...

Ben left his last analysis unspoken. _'We're getting closer.'_ he thought, _'but he's just not ready yet. Until he can start to talk about his family, his son, the healing won't be complete.'_

The Psychologist checked his watch. Three o'clock. They had been going for over an hour. Outside, the sun had disappeared and the sky was full of thick snowflakes being tossed about in a violent wind. He glanced at Aaron, who seemed lost in thought, staring blankly towards the window. Ben was about to suggest a quick coffee break when the phone on his desk began to ring. Annoyed at the interruption, he rose and picked up the handset.

"Steph, I..." his reprimand stuck in his throat as he listened to the voice on the other end of the line.

In seconds, the atmosphere in the room had become tense. Hotch became aware of the change and looked over at Dr. MacDonald. Ben's body had gone rigid. He cast a glance over at the agent but refused to meet his eyes.

Hotch overheard the last part of the doctor's conversation. "I think you should speak to him directly... yes...yes... understood...I'll arrange it immediately..."

Then Ben walked over to the couch and held out the phone.

"Aaron... It's Agent Jareau."

Hotch felt his stomach tighten. His mouth went dry. He knew from Ben's reaction that he wasn't going to like whatever JJ was about to tell him. He tried to clear his mind of the list of horrible possibilities. "JJ? It's Hotch."

Ben tried to keep a respectful distance from Aaron, but he wanted to be close when his client heard the news about the accident. He watched, expecting some sort of demonstrable outburst. Instead, he got to witness the experienced, well-trained FBI agent take control. He was impressed. Hotch's face had drained of colour, but his eyes were alert and his voice calm as he questioned his colleague. After fifteen seconds, Aaron hung up.

"Doctor, I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to go..." Hotch struggled to his feet and began limping towards the door. "I... uh... I'll set up another appointment... sorry..."

Ben put a hand on Hotch's shoulder. "Sit in the wheelchair, Aaron. It will be quicker for me to push than you to hobble. You can sign the temporary release forms on the way. Your agents have been told to come to this end of the hospital, presumably. Please... don't argue."

Hotch looked gratefully at the doctor and dropped into the chair. He took out his cell phone and dialled Haley's number. As he listened to it ring and go to voicemail, his mind was already racing towards the scene of the accident. He closed his eyes. _'Please, not my son... not Jack.'_

***

A black SUV with engine running was stopped outside of the Psychology wing where Dr. MacDonald had his office. Ben pushed the wheelchair through the entranceway as Agent Morgan jumped out of the van and went to open the passenger-side door. Between the two men, they managed to assist Hotch into the front seat. Morgan got in, tossed Hotch a coat, and moved the SUV into the steady stream of afternoon commuters.

Their progress was agonizingly slow. The predicted storm had blown in with a vengeance; the roads were very slippery, snow was falling thickly and a bitter wind was lashing against the windshield. Hotch leaned his head back and closed his eyes, willing Morgan to go faster. Derek glanced over at his boss. It had been a couple of weeks since he had last been to visit because Hotch hadn't wanted to see anyone other than Dave after his flashbacks. To Morgan, Hotch seemed a little better physically, but looked emotionally drained and still unnaturally pale. He wished that he could help; he couldn't imagine having been through the amount of trauma his Unit Chief had experienced let alone be confronted with this new horror...

"Rossi was giving a talk when JJ took the call; he'll meet us at the scene." said Morgan, guessing that Hotch would have expected the older agent to have been the one to come and get him.

Hotch merely nodded. One hand held his cell-phone while the other gripped the coat on his lap. _'Not Jack, please...' _He tried yet again to reach his ex-wife, but with no success.

Morgan tried to be rational, "Hotch, we don't know anything yet. There's a good chance it's all a mistake."

No comment from his passenger. Morgan decided to just concentrate on driving.

Another ten minutes brought them to the accident site. It looked terrible. All of the roads had been closed and traffic diverted. In the middle of an intersection controlled by stop signs, a large truck lay on its side, front end caved in. A few yards away, partially wrapped around a telephone pole, was a minivan. Most of one side of the van had been crushed. Emergency workers were on scene, manoeuvring the jaws-of-life into position next to the van's driver-side door. An ambulance was parked slightly to one side, lights flashing in readiness.

"Oh my god." breathed Morgan. He stopped the SUV at the barricade and flashed his identification at the approaching policeman. The cop nodded and moved the barrier off to one side.

"Hotch, we're not going to be able to get that close... the investigators will still be collecting evidence and with all this snow coming down they'd better be working fast. Stay here, I'll go and check it out." Morgan put his hand on the door handle.

"No. I'm coming too." said Hotch forcefully, wincing as he tried to wriggle his left arm into the jacket. "I need to see..."

"Hotch! You can barely walk. It's a blizzard and an ice-rink out there! You're not going to be of any use to anyone if you hurt yourself or catch pneumonia! Let me help!"

Hotch was about to reply, but bit his tongue. He knew that Derek was right. His lungs were still weak, and scrub pants and sweatshirt were hardly the clothing for freezing temperatures. Besides, without help, Aaron didn't think he could walk as far as the minivan that held his attention. He dropped his head, muttering, "Go."

Morgan yanked open the door and marched through the storm until he came to a fireman who seemed to be leading the rescue. Once again he produced his identification. The fireman glanced it and then at Morgan.

"What does the FBI want with this? One of the vehicles stolen?" the man was shouting to make himself heard over the howling wind.

Morgan shook his head. He gestured back to their SUV. "My boss... he's recovering from gunshot wounds and now finds out that his kid might have been in that van!"

The fireman looked sadly at Derek. "I hope to god he wasn't... poor little guy, didn't stand a chance."

"You're sure... the kid's dead..?" Morgan squinted as large snowflakes blew into his face.

"No, we're not positive. He was still breathing, but it didn't look good. We managed to pull him out from the other side of the van. Air-vac'd him to St. Mary's, the trauma centre, just before the storm got worse."

"Besides the driver, was there anyone else in the van?"

"No. The driver is a woman; the mother, presumably. She doesn't look good either... severe head and neck injuries at best... God knows what we'll find when the jaws get her out."

Morgan took a deep breath. "Have you found anything that could positively identify the occupants?"

The fireman nodded gravely and dug a gloved hand into the outer pocket of his heavy coat. "It's why we knew to contact you lot..." As he spoke, he pulled out a small wool toque and handed it to the agent. Morgan turned it over in his hand. A name-tag was sewn into the inside of the hat. Morgan read the tag then closed his eyes briefly in silent prayer. He looked back towards the SUV, towards his boss and friend. He wished Rossi were here. Hell, anyone but himself.

"You've found nothing else? The woman's purse???"

"Not yet. We can't access the front of the van from either side. Look, I'm sorry..."

"Hey man, can I get closer? I need to take a look at the driver..."

The fireman put out a restraining hand. "I'm sorry, Agent Morgan. There's too much blood for an ID right now, and you'd only be in the way... we need to get her out of there."

Morgan dug out a business card and handed it to the fireman. "Call me if you find anything, okay? And thanks." He took a long look at the minivan. Stuffing the toque inside his jacket, he turned and resolutely began to walk back to the SUV and Hotch.

***

Hotch watched as Morgan navigated his way between the emergency vehicles, head bent against the storm. Aaron's heart was pounding in his chest. He tried to concentrate on keeping his breathing under control. He felt helpless and gripped the coat on his lap even harder. _'How could this have happened?! Haley wouldn't be out in this weather, she hated driving in the winter. We had agreed that they wouldn't visit again until the weekend... did she change her mind? I'll never forgive myself if they were on their way to the hospital... Why won't she answer the phone??!'_

His thoughts were interrupted by a tapping on the window. It was Rossi. Hotch found the central locking button and Dave flung himself into the backseat, slamming the door against the cold.

"Hotch! I'm sorry! I got here as soon as I could! Any news?"

"No. Morgan's gone to see what he can find out. I can't see him through this mess of a windshield... I think he was talking to a fireman a minute ago."

Rossi laid a comforting hand on his friend's shoulder. "Do you recognize the van?"

Hotch shook his head. "But I don't know what Haley is driving these days... We... we don't talk much."

"Look, let's not think the worst..." Rossi hadn't finished his sentence when the driver's door opened and Morgan got in.

Hotch and Rossi knew instantly from Morgan's body language that something was terribly wrong. Hotch braced himself and looked steadily at the younger agent. Rossi kept his hand on Aaron's shoulder.

"Morgan, tell me."

Derek's expression was one of defeat. Slowly, he unzipped his jacket and reached inside. He pulled out the toque.

Hotch felt as though he'd been kicked repeatedly in the gut. He reached out and took the hat. Numbly, he fingered the material between his fingers. He didn't need to read the tag. He had seen Haley sew it into the toque almost a year earlier: 'Jack Hotchner'.


	11. Chapter 11

**Chapter ****11**

Morgan pulled the SUV in front of the entrance to the St. Mary's Trauma Centre, lights flashing. Rossi dashed in to try to find out information on the injured little boy, flashing his badge to get to the head of a very long line up in a packed ER. Hotch lurched out of the SUV and limped after Rossi. In his worry and haste, he slipped on some ice and went down. Exasperated at his carelessness and ignoring the shooting pain in his calf, he hauled himself up and kept going. He had not gotten very far, however, when Morgan caught up to him. Derek had found a spare wheelchair and somehow managed to persuade Hotch to sit in it. At seeing the sea of people in line for the Admissions desk and knowing Rossi would already be at the head of the queue, Morgan wheeled the Unit Chief into a quieter hallway while he went to park the vehicle. Hotch spent the wait for Rossi hitting the redial button on his cell phone. He had left Haley only one message, but was trying both her home and mobile numbers every ten minutes. He just didn't want to believe that she was the woman trapped in the minivan... he didn't want to believe any of this nightmare. Instinct told him to remain rational, to wait for proof. But Hotch just wanted to burst into the operating room and see for himself. Sitting in the wheelchair, he felt helpless. Having to be so reliant on others was eating him up inside. Extremely frustrated, he put his hand to his forehead in an attempt to control the despair that was threatening to engulf him.

'_Jack... please be alright, son. I love you...' _

Dave finished questioning the admissions staff and looked about for his colleagues. He finally spotted Hotch and pushed his way through the mass of people to get to his friend. Hotch looked up. His dark eyes pierced Dave's face, reading every twitch, every look. "Dave..?" he asked anxiously but quietly.

"They couldn't tell me much, Hotch. The boy is still in surgery. No other ID has been found. We'll just have to wait until you can see him or until Haley answers her phone."

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes.

Hotch was beside himself with worry for both his son and his ex-wife. "Dave, what if she's the one in the minivan? What if they were on their way to see me? I don't know what I'll do if..."

"Shhhhh, Hotch. We don't know anything yet. There are other possible explanations so don't jump to conclusions."

Hotch was holding his head in his hands. "Wouldn't you?"

Rossi smiled a half smile. "Of course I would. But what kind of friend would I be to tell you to worry?"

Hotch grunted and tried to return the smile. He knew Rossi was teasing him in an attempt to take his mind off of Jack. _'Just like during the hostage situation'_ he recollected suddenly. He looked at the older agent, who had managed to find a chair and had plopped himself next to the wheelchair.

"Dave?"

"Mmm?" Dave had leant his head back against the wall and closed his eyes.

"Thanks."

"For what?"

"For everything... I think you probably saved my life in the Gordon house... And... and you're the only one brave enough to tell me when I'm being a jackass."

Rossi opened his eyes and turned to face Aaron. "I'll take credit only for the latter... and you're welcome. As for saving your life..." he shook his head. "You did that all by yourself; I keep trying to tell you that."

Hotch frowned. "But I don't understand how... All I was capable of was lying in my own blood, Dave. How is that saving anyone? You were the one keeping me going, distracting me..."

"Hotch, you're wrong! You saved us both when you were at that window. Trevor would have shot you, turned around and shot me." Rossi's eyes burned with intensity. "We knew by then that he was never going to let us go. The only reason he agreed to your release was because he figured you were essentially already dead, so he wouldn't really be giving up anything. You had that flashback, so I know that you remember."

"I... I just have this image of Morgan and the rest of the team. They were looking up at me, terrified. They needed their leader but all I could think was that I was about to die... What kind of guidance is that??! They deserved better, Dave."

Rossi put his hand on Hotch's arm. "Aaron."

This got Hotch's attention. Rarely did Dave call him by his Christian name.

Rossi said earnestly, "Aaron, you seem to have a habit of remembering only selective parts of an event. I don't doubt what you saw or felt, but it is **your** **reaction** that saved us. Let me tell you what I witnessed, okay? What I saw was a man who remained in complete control when everything around him was going to hell. Hotch, you didn't panic, you didn't freeze, you didn't get mad. Nor did you give up. You completely diffused the situation by calmly telling Gordon the only thing that could possibly have gotten a narcissist's attention... his own fate. So somehow, while suffering severe blood loss and shock, while thinking you were about to die, while wanting to help the team, you managed to remember the profile, formulate the response and deliver it non-aggressively. I know you hate the word, but that is still the mark of a hero in my book. I couldn't have done that. And you know what else? I'll bet if you asked Morgan about it, he'd tell you the same."

Hotch had stopped frowning; he simply looked discouraged. "I... I just don't know what to believe anymore. I don't trust myself, Dave. I don't trust my ability to lead the team... I..." he clenched his fists around the handles of the wheelchair with a sudden display of emotion. "God, I can't even protect my own son..!"

"Hotch! You can't protect or save everyone! What is it you always tell me? You can only try to do the right thing. You do that. I see it every day, in your work, when you're around Jack, when you deal with total strangers. Whatever has happened today is beyond our control. We just have to pray that it wasn't Haley and Jack in that van."

Aaron didn't reply. Instead, he hit 'redial' on his cell and put the phone to his ear. _'Please, Haley, pick up! I will do whatever it takes to make things right by Jack...'_

There was still no answer.

Rossi looked intently at his friend and seemed to read his mind. "Oh, and Hotch? You are the **only** BAU Unit Chief this team will accept so if you're thinking of doing something stupid, like resigning, forget it!"

"Resigning?!! What?!! Hotch! You can't leave us! Especially not like this!" Morgan exclaimed as he dodged a parked gurney. He was carrying a large paper bag in one hand, and a tray of take-out cups in the other.

"No-one is going anywhere, Morgan." said Rossi firmly, looking directly at Hotch.

Hotch remained silent. The smell of food emanating from the paper bag was making his stomach churn. He was already feeling nauseous from stress and pain. He knew he should eat something, but he just couldn't. _'Aaron, try the coffee, you've got to keep whatever strength you have.'_ he lectured himself.

"I've talked to JJ and Garcia." Morgan started as he handed out the drinks, "JJ's called all of the other hospitals in the area. No-one fitting Haley's description has been brought in. Hotch, Garcia wants to know if you want to put a trace on Haley's cell phone..."

Hotch had already considered the idea but had dismissed it. Haley would see this as a gross violation of her privacy. If things really were alright, she would be furious. But that was three hours ago. Hotch knew the child could be in surgery for hours yet. He didn't think he could wait without knowing for much longer. His adrenaline was the only thing keeping him going. His head was pounding and leg throbbing from overexertion and the fall on the ice. Hotch could feel that he was starting to lose his grip over the panic within him. He ran his hands through his hair. _'I've got to do something! I can't just sit here waiting anymore.'_

"Do it." he said unhappily.

Morgan pulled out his phone and had reached Garcia in seconds. "Baby Doll? Hotch needs you to work some magic. We need to find Haley. I'll stay on the line..."

There was a brief pause. Hotch was inwardly squirming, his still-healing abdomen clenched painfully. The nausea was a constant. _'Come on, Garcia! Please... hurry!' _

"Last call she made was to an R. Stevens." Morgan repeated Garcia's findings. "She's tried the number but no answer."

Rossi looked at Hotch. "Recognize the name?"

Hotch shook his head. It pained him that he could no longer answer that question. _'How many of Jack's friends could I name? None. When was the last time I saw him at a play date? So long ago that I can't remember... God, Aaron, you're turning into your father...'_

"Morgan, get Garcia to find out what kind of car the family owns." ordered Rossi.

It took less than a minute for Garcia to come back with the information. Hotch looked up sharply, his heart racing once again. Morgan began racing towards the exit, yelling "I'm on it!" Rossi put a hand into his pocket and fingered the gold bracelet that had become the equivalent of a rosary. There was still hope.

***

Cases involving children had always been especially disturbing to SSA Hotchner, ever since the birth of his son, Jack. Now, as he was yet again forced to endure a period of waiting, Hotch was plagued by visions from some of these files. He saw the victim's parents' faces as they realized that their offspring would never again come home; looks of shock, disbelief and heart-wrenching sorrow, sorrow that would be forever imprinted in their eyes. It was a prime motivator for the Agent, to make the world a safer place for Jack. He never imagined that he too might carry the scar of a lost child. _'I've spent so little time with him... I always thought I was doing the right thing... that Jack would understand. But now... now I may never be able to show him how much I...'_ Hotch swallowed hard, and with an almighty effort, pushed the horrific images from his mind and pulled himself together. _'Get a grip, Aaron, you can't fall apart!'_

David Rossi was keeping a subtle, but close eye on his friend. Hotch was doing a good job at keeping what must be sheer panic in check, but at what cost? The younger agent was visibly shaken, exhausted and in both emotional and physical pain. Aside from the shooting, Rossi had never seen him this way. Dave knew that there would be no convincing Hotch to return to his hospital bed while Jack's fate was still in the balance; he needed to find a way to keep Hotch from total collapse in the meantime.

"Hotch, you've got to eat something. You need to keep up your strength. What can I get you, since Morgan's offering obviously didn't appeal?"

"Nothing, I'm fine..." Hotch started but was stopped by the scowl on Rossi's face.

"Hold out your hand." Rossi demanded.

Resignedly, Aaron held out his hand. Try as he might, he couldn't hide its trembling.

Rossi gave Hotch an "I told you so" look and dug into his pocket. He pulled out a slightly bent granola bar and placed it in on Hotch's lap. "Eat. I'll get you some water."

Hotch unwrapped the bar and took a bite. His mouth was so dry that it was like eating cardboard. The nausea returned. Chewing determinedly, he managed to choke down half of the snack before Rossi returned. Dave held out a plastic cup of water. Aaron accepted it gratefully. He was about to start on the rest of the bar when a page came from a speaker hanging above their heads, startling both men.

"Paging Mr. Rossi and Mr. Hotchner. Please report to the Admissions desk immediately! That's Mr. Rossi and Mr. Hotchner."

All thoughts of sustenance were immediately forgotten. Rossi guided the wheelchair through the throng of people to the ER admissions desk. A weary looking surgeon was leaning on the counter, rolling his head to stretch out the muscles in his neck. He glanced up and saw Rossi flash his identification to the admissions nurse.

"You're the gentlemen from the FBI?" asked the doctor, looking dubiously at Hotch, who looked like he was waiting for an appointment rather than for information.

The agents nodded.

Hotch explained, "I'm SSA Aaron Hotchner, this is SSA David Rossi. We're with the Behavioural Analysis Unit of the FBI. Look, I know I don't look much like an agent right now and I don't have time to explain. I need to know the condition of the boy that you've just performed surgery on. Did he make it?"

The surgeon regarded the two men for a moment then replied, "It was a close call, but yes, the little guy will be okay eventually. He sustained internal chest injuries, but the most serious damage was to one of his legs. It was pinned between the door of the van and the backseat. The main artery was too badly damaged... I had to amputate the foot. But as I said, he should make a complete recovery and with the prostheses available today, he'll be able to resume his childhood without too much physical difficulty."

Rossi snuck a peek at Hotch. Aaron had lowered his head and was supporting it with one hand. His eyes were closed so Dave couldn't see the mix of emotions that were surging through him: relief that the child would live, but continued anxiety over his son.

'_Thank god that h__e's alive and will be okay! Anything else now is secondary... injuries can heal. But I need to know... I need to see... need to be sure...' _Aloud, Hotch pleaded, "I need to see him, please doctor. We still don't have a positive ID from the scene."

The surgeon frowned. "He's still in Recovery and will be for another couple of hours before we transfer him to the ICU. I can let you know..."

Hotch couldn't stand it any longer. "Please! I can't wait!" he exclaimed.

The doctor was confused by the passion in the agent's voice. Rossi saw this and intervened.

"Doc, there is a possibility that the boy is Agent Hotchner's son. We found a hat belonging to Jack at the scene, but weren't able to see the driver to get an ID. We've also tried reaching his mother by phone, with no success. I realize this is unusual, but my colleague here is recovering from gunshot wounds and the sooner we can clear up the situation, the better. The boy's parents, whoever they may be, also need to be informed..."

The surgeon's expression softened. He turned to Hotch. "Okay, I'll take you up and let you see him... but only for a couple of minutes. The child needs rest... And respectfully, by the look of it, you do too." He came out from behind the desk and led the way towards the elevator.

***

Wearing a surgical gown, Hotch slowly approached the bed. From the wheelchair, all that he had been able to make out was a tuft of blond hair poking out from a bandage wrapped around the child's head; the boy's face was hidden under an oxygen mask. Aaron's hands gripped the borrowed walker so tightly that his knuckles turned white. Although he could feel his heart pounding in his chest, it seemed to him that he was moving in slow-motion. The nausea, nerves and uncertainty of the past few hours seemed to weigh him down like a ton of bricks; each shuffled step was a tremendous effort. Hotch was desperate to know the identity of the small figure in front of him, and yet a part of him wanted to flee.

'_Please, not Jack...please. I'll do better. Please...'_ he thought somewhat guiltily, knowing that if the boy were not Jack, there was another father who would currently be going through the same torturous ordeal.

At last, Hotch reached the bed. Taking a deep breath, he peered down into the tiny face, at the cuts and bruises, at the bandages, at the mask. A look of deep sadness appeared in his eyes... and then he crashed to the floor.

***

Rossi was pacing the hallway outside of the surgical recovery room, waiting for Hotch. Morgan had phoned with the news that the Stevens' licence plate matched that of the crumpled minivan. The driver had eventually been freed from the wreckage, but had been pronounced dead at the scene and her body taken to County General, the same hospital at which Hotch was a patient. It didn't seem likely, then, that the woman and boy were the Hotchners, but there was still the possibility that Haley had borrowed the vehicle. And if they were not involved in the accident, where were they and why had Haley not returned any of Hotch's messages? Dave asked Morgan to go to Haley's house and see if she had arrived home; if not, he was to leave an officer to wait.

"And Morgan? Find Haley. Check the morgue at the General; we need a definite ID on the driver. Have Garcia run credit cards and check all the cab companies. Use whatever resources you need to. I'm worried about Hotch. He can't take much more of this..."

Rossi sighed heavily and sat down in the empty wheelchair. Absently, he fingered the bracelet in his pocket. He was extremely concerned about Agent Hotchner. Everyone had their breaking point. Given what Aaron had endured over the past weeks and on this day, he must be close to reaching his. Dave was childless, but he still understood the agony of the situation for his friend. He also knew he needed to return Hotch to the hospital quickly. The man required rest and medication; adrenaline could only get him so far.

A loud commotion roused Rossi from his thoughts and sent him racing into the recovery room.

***

Rossi arrived at Hotch's side at the same time as the surgeon. Aaron was semi-conscious; he tried to push himself up but his body had finally had enough and he fell back onto the cold linoleum. A soft groan escaped his lips as the enormity of all of his pain hit him full force. He closed his eyes.

"Eeeeasy, Hotch. Just lie still a minute, would you?" Dave stood up. He was handed a gown and as he put it on, he glanced at the little boy in the bed. It had been over a year since he had last set eyes upon Jack Hotchner, but unless he was mistaken...

The surgeon had called for reinforcements and the group of medics soon had Hotch lying on a gurney. A nurse was preparing to stick a needle into one of his veins to start an IV but Rossi put a restraining hand on her arm.

"Please, is that necessary right now?"

The nurse looked incredulously at him.

Rossi turned to the surgeon. "Look, I know that he needs medical attention. But he is on day release from County General and I can take him back now. He'll be back to his surgeon and getting all the drugs required in half an hour, I promise."

The doctor stroked his chin. He looked at Hotch, who was now awake but still woozy, and raised his eyebrows at the nurse. "What's his pressure?"

"110 over 60."

"And the boy..? "

Aaron was staring into space, so Rossi said, "The only thing we know for certain is that he is not Jack Hotchner. But our team are following up on a couple of leads. As soon as we find anything, we'll be in touch." Dave took a business card out of his wallet and handed it to the surgeon.

The surgeon smiled briefly at Aaron. "I'm happy for you, Agent, I really am... it must be a monumental relief. Now what do you think? Are you up to the trip or shall we keep you overnight and your colleague can return you to the General tomorrow?"

Hotch turned his head and looked sombrely at the child. He didn't want to leave him; he might not be Jack, but he was someone's son and deserved a watchful presence. But he realized he needed rest, he couldn't last much longer... and he still didn't know the whereabouts of his own young boy.

"I can make it. I'm sorry to have troubled you... Thank you for your help, doctor."

The surgeon shook his head in silent disapproval but shrugged. "Okay, Agent. You're just about fit to travel... but I'm going to insist on the IV."

"Deal." Rossi said before Hotch could protest. Dave walked back into the hallway while the medics finished up with Hotch. He felt the buzz of his cell phone.

"What do you have for us Morgan?" he asked.

According to Morgan, the FBI had found no one home at Haley's residence. Furthermore, the deceased woman in the morgue still had not been positively identified. Mr. Stevens had been located out of town and was on his way back by train. He was due in the following morning. There was a piece of good news for Hotch, however. Prentiss and Reid had gone to view the body and confirmed that she was not Haley Hotchner.

Rossi breathed a sigh of relief. "Okay, Derek, save the rest until you get here. We need to get Hotch back to Dr. Travis. He's not doing so well... He collapsed, not really a surprise considering... Yes, he's alright for the time-being, well enough for transport.... We'll be at the ER entrance."

***

It was a quiet ride back to County General Hospital. Hotch had been given the news about Haley. He felt numb. He was too tired to process his other feelings. He just knew that although still missing, the odds favoured a positive outcome. After all, Haley may have taken Jack out of town... they weren't due to visit until the weekend, still four days away. His team were on the hunt; his family would soon be found. The drone of the engine was comforting; he dozed.

Rossi glanced over his shoulder into the back of the SUV. Hotch's head rested against the window, his eyes closed and mouth slightly open. His IV bag rested on the seat next to him. Dave turned back and looked out at the night. The storm had passed, leaving a starlit sky and half-moon shining. Rossi was incredibly relieved... the day could have ended so differently.

"How's he doing?" whispered Morgan, jerking his head towards the backseat.

"Sleeping, thank god. I'm going to ask the doctor to give him a sedative. He's going to need more than 6-8 hours to get over today's fun and games."

Morgan nodded his agreement. "I've never met anyone like Hotch. I mean, the man is a machine, not to mention one stubborn son of a bitch! He somehow lives through losing a truckload of blood, fights through these flashbacks he's been having, only to have today happen? The man deserves a medal and early retirement!"

"Don't give him any ideas... I think he's contemplating resigning."

Morgan looked sharply at Rossi. "You're serious?! That line in the hospital earlier? You really think he'll leave us?"

Rossi shrugged. "I know I'd be re-thinking my life priorities if I'd cheated death on numerous occasions and been led to believe my son was dead... You know, Hotch, Derek. He will always do what he thinks is right for everyone but himself."

Morgan pursed his lips. He didn't want Hotch to resign. He could understand why his boss might choose to do so, but he didn't want to work for anyone else. Hotch was his mentor and even though Derek knew he would choose a more relaxed leadership style, his Unit Chief's actions over the past months had really opened Morgan's eyes. He had been crushed when Hotch hadn't given him his personal recommendation for the New York field office job. Derek had been pissed at his boss for a couple of weeks, but after some serious self-examination, had come to the conclusion that Hotch's reservations were well-founded. He **did** finding trusting others difficult, even his teammates. But if Morgan were to trust anyone, that person would be SSA Hotchner. His quick thinking at the bust, standing in that window with a gun to his head... Derek shuddered involuntarily. He would never forget it; he was still in awe.

"Yeah, I get it. But I don't have to like it." Morgan muttered as he pulled into short-term parking at the hospital.

Rossi regarded the young agent thoughtfully. "Derek?" he said quietly, so as not to be overheard by Hotch, who was stirring now the vehicle had come to a stop.

Morgan raised an eyebrow.

"If you really feel that way, you might want to mention it to our beloved leader... and soon. You know, he's still trying to blame himself for the bust and getting shot. Oh and he also doesn't think he is fit to lead this team. I can't seem to be able to get through to him."

Morgan's jaw dropped in genuine astonishment. "What?! Man, are you kidding me?!!" he hissed. "You bet I'll have words!"

Rossi grinned. "Easy, Derek... the man has been through enough for one day. Give him a chance. At least wait until morning."

***


	12. Chapter 12

**Chapter ****12**

Everything about the room was cold. The rows of instruments, the steel tables, the low lighting and the lack of heat came together to leave a chilly, sterile and uninviting atmosphere. A sense of sadness and death hung like a cloud over the occupants. Visitors were few. Nobody wanted to venture into the bowels of the building.

Hotch approached one of the tables. On it, a small figure lay covered by a sheet. _'Please... don't let it be him... I'll do better... god, no...'_

Slowly, shakily and with a great sense of foreboding, Hotch lifted the sheet to uncover the face. The body was of a small boy, no more than four years old. The pale, grey face bore the marks of recent trauma. The child's blond hair had been neatly combed and he looked almost peaceful in his slumber. But even such loving preparation could not change the only fact that really mattered: Jack Hotchner was dead.

Hotch collapsed onto a metal stool and buried his face in his hands. "No! Not Jack! Nooooo!"

He felt a soft hand on his shoulder, shaking him. He didn't want to open his eyes. He couldn't bear to see his son's lifeless face again. "Jack..." he moaned, heartbroken.

"Aaron!"

He tried to shake off the hand. He wanted to be alone, to spend time with his son, time that he hadn't spent when Jack was alive. But the voice persisted.

"Aaron! Aaron, wake up!"

The shaking became more urgent.

"Aaron, pleeeease! You're dreaming! Wake up! Jack is okay, he's alive. Open your eyes!"

At last the fog surrounding his brain began to lift. Hotch, disoriented, started to open his eyes, blinking at a light shining in his face. He lifted his hand to block the glare, which was coming from the lamp on his bedside table. A familiar figure stood in front of him.

"Haley???" he mumbled, still trying to decipher where he was.

Haley Hotchner quietly pulled her chair over to the bedside. Gently, she stroked his head. "Yes Aaron, it's me. And Jack is here too." She pointed behind her, into the shadows. Hotch could make out the shadowy outline of his son curled up on another chair, covered by a blanket and sleeping.

"Haley..."

"Shhh, it's okay. Agent Jareau told me everything. But it's the middle of the night and you need to rest. We will talk in the morning. Jack and I aren't going anywhere. I only woke you up because you were talking in your sleep. You were having a nightmare..."

Hotch shuddered involuntarily. The image from the morgue was still very fresh in his mind. He closed his eyes. He could feel Haley's touch as she continued to run her fingers through his hair. It was soothing and reminded him of their good times. His body relaxed and he fell back to sleep.

***

When Hotch awoke again, bright sunshine was streaming through the window. He looked in the direction of the guest chairs to make sure he hadn't been dreaming... that Jack and Haley were okay. Haley saw that he was alert, smiled at him and put down the book she had been reading.

"Good afternoon!" she said, bringing her chair closer.

"Afternoon?" Hotch frowned. "How long have I been out?"

Haley's smile vanished. "Uh... a day and a half..."

"What?!"

"Aaron, you were in rough shape after... well, after the other day. The doctors decided to keep you sedated so that they could rehydrate you and give your body total rest." She looked pointedly at him. "They have obviously learned how stubborn you can be..."

The patient sighed and raised himself into a sitting position. "I guess I was a bit off by the time I got back here."

Haley shook her head at his understatement. "'A bit off', Aaron? You were close to total exhaustion! Your blood pressure was really low and your heart was doing some weird things." Seeing his sudden distress, she hurried on, "But you're ok, all the tests they did last night were normal. You'll be fine." She smiled again.

Hotch looked at the second visitor's chair. It was empty.

"Where's Jack?" he asked. He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice, how badly he needed to hold his son, but Haley was still able to read him like a book.

"He'll be back soon. Morgan took him to get some lunch and I warned them they couldn't be long. Besides, I thought that we should talk a little first. I wanted you to be in the loop: Jack knows that you were worried about him, but not why, and not to what extent. And I... I've not told him about Sue or Eric yet either... I thought that until he could see that his father was alright, I should wait..."

Hotch nodded in approval. "I think you're right." He folded his arms across his chest, being careful not to kink the line to his IV. Unconsciously, he rubbed the thumb and forefinger of one hand together. It was his thinking posture. "Haley, I'm sorry about bringing in the team. I must have frightened you... I was just so worried..."

"It's okay, Aaron. I completely understand. I can only imagine what you went through that day. I would have been wishing I had similar resources if Jack or you went missing!"

"So, what happened, Haley? I knew something was up when you didn't return my calls..."

Haley looked sheepish. "God, Aaron, it was just as simple as my cell battery running out... Okay, the full story is that Sue and I had arranged a play-date for Jack and her boy, Eric. She volunteered to drive and I was fine with that. Anyway, we went to the zoo. But we hadn't been there very long before Eric started to feel sick. Sue decided to take him home, but Jack was having so much fun that I said we'd just take a cab. We were in the African exhibit for ages and then Jack insisted on buying you a gift from the shop. By the time we came out, the storm had hit and Jack had left his toque in the van..." she paused, helping herself to some water from the jug on the bedside table.

"...so walking to a bus stop was out of the question... Anyway, I started talking with the shop clerk and she said that there was a hotel nearby that was reasonably priced and why didn't I just treat myself and Jack to a 'sleep-over' and wait out the storm. So I did... I never thought to call you... never thought that Sue..." here, Haley's eyes filled with tears.

Hotch unfolded his arms and reached across to put his hand on her knee. "I'm sorry, Haley..."

She dabbed at her eyes. "I told myself I wasn't going to do this." she sniffed.

Aaron looked at her sympathetically. "She was your friend; it's only natural that you're upset."

Haley gazed at him for a moment. "I know... it's just such a waste. And poor Eric..." she straightened suddenly and seemed to recover her strength. "Anyway, your team found me eventually, thank god. I wanted to bring Jack over right then and there, but Agent Rossi told me that you'd be out for awhile."

"I'm just glad that you're **both** okay." said Hotch sincerely.

"And I am very grateful that being such a caring father didn't do **you** any permanent damage."

They smiled sadly at each other. Not for the first time, Hotch wondered where it had all gone so wrong between them. But he then consoled himself with the fact that they were alive and able to get along; Jack had two loving parents... unlike Eric.

Suddenly, a small form burst into the room and threw himself on top of the bed.

"DADDY!!!" yelled Jack joyfully.

Hotch was almost too overcome to speak, but he quickly smothered his emotions and scooped the boy into his arms, oblivious to the fact that his IV had come loose. "Jack! I have missed you so much!"

Jack hugged his father, giggling with pleasure. Then he saw the stray tube and his young eyebrows furrowed.

"Daddy." He said sternly. "Dr. Travis is gonna be mad at you. You've lost something out of your hand!"

Hotch smiled affectionately at Jack. "No, it's okay. I have finished with it now. It was giving me energy while I was resting, that's all. But thanks for looking out for me. Do you know how much I love you?"

Jack's smile returned. "I love you too! And I got you a present!" He wriggled out of Aaron's arms and slid off the bed, running over to Morgan, who had entered the room and sat down in the empty visitor chair.

"Uncle Morgan?! Wanna see the present I got for my daddy?"

Morgan grinned broadly and pretended to poke Jack in the belly. "You bet, kid! But you'd better let your dad see it first... you haven't lost it already, have you?" he asked in mock concern.

Jack laughed, pushing away Derek's hand. "NOOOO! It's right here!" The youngster crawled under his mother's chair and snatched a small bag out of her purse. He marched up to the bed and carefully set the bag onto his father's lap.

Hotch picked up the bag and pretended to shake it. "Mmm, doesn't make any sound... Am I allowed to open it now, Jack?"

Jack threw his head up and down and clapped his hands in excitement.

"It's very appropriate." said Haley quietly. She smiled encouragingly at her ex-husband. "Go on, Aaron, open it."

Hotch kept his eyes on his son as he unwrapped the top of the bag. _'I could look at that smile forever...'_ he thought. He put his hand into the parcel and pulled out a small statue. A lion with a large mane was mounted on a stand that read "#1 DAD".

He was incredibly moved. "Jack..." he breathed, "I... I don't know what to say... Thank you!" and once again, he lifted Jack into a hug and kissed the top of his head. Hotch was keenly aware of how fortunate he was. His son was alive and well and clearly loved his dad. _'I don't deserve him, but I'm so grateful... I will do better!'_

"The lions were my favourite at the zoo!" Jack was saying, his eyes bright with the memory. "And the man at the cage said that lions are really strong!"

"That's right, kid." Morgan took the statue from Hotch so that his boss could better hold his son. "And you know what else lions are?"

Jack twisted around in Hotch's arms to face Derek. He shook his head.

Morgan held up the statue. "Lions are very brave. And out of ALL the animals, they are the leaders."

Jack smiled again. "Just like my daddy!"

Morgan ignored the frown from Hotch and grinned back at the boy. "Right again, Jack! **Exactly** like your daddy."

***

As much as he didn't want to relinquish Jack, Hotch knew that his son was getting tired. _'He can't have slept well on that chair.'_ So when Haley announced that it was time to go, Aaron didn't protest. He gave Jack a last tight hug and a kiss and regretfully watched him follow his mother out of the room.

Morgan waved good-bye to the departing pair then turned to face the man in the bed. His smile disappeared as he regarded his Unit Chief. "Hotch. We need to talk."

Hotch raised his eyebrows. "Oh?" he said guardedly, "What about?"

"You." Said Morgan simply.

Hotch rolled his eyes and sighed loudly. "Morgan..."

Derek broke in, "No Hotch. You're not getting out of this. No way!"

Hotch fixed Morgan with one of his patented glares but Derek was unmoved. Aaron could see that the younger agent was not going to let this go. He also remembered Ben MacDonald's advice: 'talk to Agent Morgan, he seems to be a key figure in your flashbacks...' He trusted Derek, he just wasn't convinced he wanted to share his thoughts with him. Still frowning, he asked,

"What, precisely, did you want discuss? I'm grateful for all of your help finding Jack, I'll..."

Again, Morgan shook his head and cut off his superior. "You're not getting it, Hotch. This isn't about me, it's about you. Let's start by you telling me how are you doing?"

"Fine, now that I'm sure about Jack. Satisfied?"

Morgan grinned. "Nope, not even close."

Hotch closed his eyes and rested his head back on his pillows. "Morgan, you've obviously got something to say... so say it, please, and let's move on to other subjects."

"I'm worried about you. Rossi says you're still getting severe flashbacks."

"Agent Rossi shouldn't be saying anything. Besides, they're nothing you need to be concerned about."

"That's bull and you know it. Hey, look at me. After all we've been through, you can trust me! Remember New York City? You said you trusted me with your life."

Hotch opened his eyes and regarded his agent. "I do trust you, Morgan."

"So trust me now. Tell me about these flashbacks, maybe I can help!"

"Morgan..." Hotch said, "I appreciate your concern, but I already have a psychologist. And I'm fine!"

Morgan looked down at his hands, which were folded on his lap. He tried to think of another tact which would get his boss to open up.

"True, you do have a doc. But I'm the one who seems to be front and centre of your memories."

That startled Hotch, and Morgan saw it.

"Who told you that?" demanded the older agent, scowling. His dark eyes flashed with anger.

"It doesn't matter. Call it a lucky guess. But I can see that it's true."

Hotch looked away, folding his arms across his chest in his typical defensive posture. "Coincidence."

It was Morgan's turn to roll his eyes. "Man, why are you being so pig-headed?! Can't you see I care about you?!"

He was met with stony silence.

"Okay, you're going to hear me out... you've had your chance." Morgan paused to see if he would get a reaction, but Hotch was still looking anywhere but at Derek. Morgan began to get frustrated.

"Hotch! Listen to me! You're our Unit Chief, and a damn good one! Now somewhere along the line, you've come up with the idea that this title means that you have to be right 100% of the time. That you have to take the blame whenever something doesn't go right for us, even if that something is completely beyond our control. That you have to protect all of us...

"And because of that notion, you've got it into that stubborn head of yours that somehow you've let us down, that the bad bust was your fault. So now you're feeling guilty, maybe even questioning your command...

"How am I doing so far?"

"I thought we had an agreement not to profile each other." Hotch muttered through clenched teeth. Morgan saw his fists curl; he knew he was on the right track, even if Hotch wasn't admitting it.

"Tell me I'm wrong, Hotch."

More silence.

Morgan leaned forward. "The last time I looked, we were supposed to be a team. Hell, we're so close we're practically a family. And in families, everyone relies and leans on everyone else, not one person. This family, this team, needs YOU. But not to take sole responsibility for everything, that's impossible. We created those Gordon profiles together. We ALL agreed they were the best we could do with the information we had. You **do** remember that, don't you, Hotch?! So drop this bull about the profile being wrong and the idea you could have prevented the whole thing."

Hotch shifted in the bed to face Morgan. "Derek, it's nice of you to try to cover for me, but as team leader, it was my responsibility..."

Morgan stood up, rubbing the top of his bald head in annoyance. He began pacing, looking daggers at his boss.

"Man, that is total crap! And the Agent Hotchner **I** know would understand that. So what else is eating you? I know it's not Jack..." Derek stopped his pacing and sat back in the chair. "Tell me about the god-damn flashbacks."

Aaron looked at a point on the wall beyond Agent Morgan. _'If I do resign, the team deserve to know why... and I don't want Derek blaming himself... he already knows that he's prominent in my memories and he'll take it personally...' _

In a monotone, and still examining the distant spot on the wall, Hotch briefly outlined his two main recollections. "Morgan... I... I owe you an apology. Aside from the fact that you shouldn't have been put into that situation in the first place, I should have done more to help you with the negotiation... especially when I was at the window." His eyes met Derek's and his voice dropped to a whisper, "I'm sorry... all I could think was that I was about to die... and that I'd never see my son again..."

Morgan looked at Hotch in genuine disbelief. "You're serious? THAT is what this is all about?!! Hotch! You've got it all wrong! You didn't let me down! You didn't let anybody down!"

The younger agent sounded so fervent in his words that Hotch couldn't help but start to listen. Morgan continued,

"I will NEVER, EVER forget what you did at that window! You don't think you helped??! Man, you were a god-send. I want to know how you stayed so cool. Jesus, you had a gun to your head! And how the hell did you know what to say?!! You were only half-conscious and yet you hit the guy with the only line he'd pause for... how did you think of it?!! You saved your ass, and Rossi's... and bought me a bit of time to calm down..." he looked directly at his supervisor, saying reverently,

"I owe you big time. Your actions went beyond whatever crazy notion you have about leadership. In my opinion, you deserve a medal. I've always respected, you, Hotch, but that control you have... that's special. You're definitely one of **the** best."

The two men looked at each other for a long minute. Eventually, Hotch broke off eye contact.

"I... uh... thanks, Morgan." He said awkwardly.

Morgan became animated once more. "I meant every word. I'm not here to suck up to you!"

Hotch sighed. "I know. I've always appreciated your directness."

"Always, Sir?" Morgan teased.

"Okay, most of the time." Hotch smiled slightly. "But I still you owe you an apology... I saw your face when you were loosening my tie in the Gordon house..."

"Jesus, Hotch, I hope that shrink is working on bringing you back to some reality. Sure, you scared the shit out of me, out of everyone. But we were scared because we care about you, man. You matter to us; Agent Hotchner the Unit Chief **and** Aaron Hotchner the man." Morgan lowered his voice,

"It's just tough to see a friend fighting for his life... you almost died..."

They sat in stillness again. This time it was Morgan who broke the silence.

"You want to know what else I think?"

"I'm sure you'll tell me anyway." Hotch said dryly.

"Maybe these flashbacks are trying to show you your team's viewpoint..."

Hotch frowned. "What do you mean?"

Morgan thought briefly. In his head, he knew the point he wanted to make, but he wasn't quite sure how to articulate it. Hotch eyed the young agent; he waited patiently. At last, Derek said,

"Like I've told you, I've always respected you, drill sergeant and all. But that bust really opened my eyes to just how good you really are...

"I was pissed with you after New York, not giving me your recommendation for the field office job..."

Hotch said nothing but maintained eye contact with his agent.

Morgan cleared his throat and continued. "...but then you get shot. Now the man I saw lying on that floor trying to breathe; he'd fought for what he believes in and was prepared to die for it. I finally got it, Hotch. You represent what I admire: strength, leadership, integrity... You've always shown these things, but I think we have taken them for granted... at least I have. So if any good has come from all of this mess, maybe this is it... your team finally gets it."

Hotch wasn't sure how to respond. He still didn't understand how getting himself shot and escaping death constituted leadership but he also realized that Morgan was entitled to his opinion. Just because he didn't agree with Derek's interpretation didn't make it incorrect.

Morgan could see that Hotch was thinking hard. He remembered Rossi's words in the SUV: 'Hotch will always do what he thinks is right for everyone but himself.' He chose his next words carefully.

"If you truly want out of the BAU for the sake of more time with Jack, you know I'll support you. But if you're thinking the right thing for this team is you leaving us, I'm telling you that there's not one person who agrees with you. Not one. Don't go, man. Not this way."

Aaron gave no sign of having heard Derek. He seemed to be completely lost in thought.

Morgan pushed on, "Hotch! You are all the things I strive to be. Why would I want or need any other teacher??! I want to learn from the best." He rose from the chair and picked up the lion statue from the bedside table and placed it on Hotch's lap.

"Your kid couldn't have chosen a better reminder. And if your four-year old son can see it, then you should too."

***

After Morgan had left, Hotch eased himself out of bed and limped over to stand by the window. Outside, there was no trace of the storm that had wreaked havoc on the city just 48 hours earlier. Aaron watched a mother and father walk out of the hospital with a newborn baby. He remembered how terrified he had been; fatherhood was such a huge responsibility. Four years later and Hotch was still petrified. He desperately wanted to be a good father. But what exactly did that entail? What made a "good" father? He wasn't sure anymore. In his mind he replayed the conversation with Morgan. _'Will resigning from the BAU make me a better father?'_ he asked himself. '_And what about the team? Is leaving the best thing for them or am I being selfish..? But if I stay, am I still effective, can I still lead this team? Morgan and Rossi both seem to think so, but I'm just not convinced anymore. What if I freeze or blackout again during a crucial moment? I'd never forgive myself if anything happened to any of them...'_

Sighing heavily, Hotch turned away from the window and painfully made his way back to the bed. His calf was stiff and sore from his fall on the ice and if he moved too quickly, he would get sharp stabs of pain to his rib and abdomen, so he was careful. Adjusting his leg, his eyes fell upon the statue of the lion. He stared at it for a long time. '_Maybe Morgan was right... maybe I need to rethink a few things...'_ He leaned over and picked up his cell phone from the bedside table. He scrolled through his contact list and hit the call button. It was picked up after only two rings.

"Hi, it's Aaron Hotchner. I'd like to make another appointment, please."

***


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter ****13**

Sean Hotchner took a last look around his small apartment and picked up his duffle bag. His eyes fell upon two framed photographs which sat on a shelf amongst his cookbook collection. In the first picture, two young boys stood smiling with their arms wrapped across each other's shoulders. Sean grinned at the memory; he and Aaron had arrived home from school. What the photo didn't reveal was the fact that along the way, Sean had gotten into an argument with a group of older boys. The bigger boys had started to push him around; he raised his fists to fight but didn't stand a chance. Just when he thought he would be beaten up, Aaron had appeared seemingly from nowhere and managed to get the bullies to leave without a punch being thrown. Sean remembered being in awe of his big brother. _'He's always been protective of me... annoying as hell, but damn, he's good at it.'_

The second photo, taken the previous Thanksgiving, also depicted the two brothers but the smiles were slightly more forced and there was no physical contact. Sean's grin faded and he sighed. _'We'll just have to update that shot'_ he told himself as he checked his jacket pockets for his plane ticket and left the building to hail a cab.

***

It seemed to Aaron Hotchner that more than five days had passed since the last time he had been in Dr. Ben MacDonald's office. So much had happened and Hotch was still trying to sift through the myriad of his emotions. He remained hesitant with the notion of bearing his soul to a psychologist, but the accident and horror of hours spent thinking his son had died had subtly changed his attitude in that regard.

Ben too, found a difference in the agent. Hotch appeared to be more open and willing to accept other opinions. Whether or not he truly believed them was another matter, of course, and only time would tell.

Presently, the pair was seated in their customary positions opposite one another. The difference was that Aaron was dressed in jeans instead of scrub pants and no longer needed to prop his leg up on the coffee table. In fact, Hotch was due to be released from hospital later that afternoon. He had mixed sentiments about that too; he wasn't sure if he was ready.

The doctor and patient were discussing the day of the huge snowstorm, which had also been their last appointment. Ben had been extremely relieved to hear that the injured boy turned out not to be the agent's son; he had been dreading the ramifications of a different outcome on Hotch's still-fragile psyche.

"Aaron," Dr. MacDonald said after the main details of that day had been told. "Tell me how you felt not knowing where your son was?"

Hotch gave the psychologist an 'isn't that obvious' look before answering, "Like any parent would be, I was out of mind worrying... thinking the worst and trying to imagine my life without him... and, of course, having some regrets."

Ben was intrigued. _'No Aaron, not 'of course''_ he thought. Aloud, he asked, "What are those regrets?"

Inwardly Hotch groaned. He knew this was coming but hadn't seen a way to avoid it. He avoided eye contact with the doctor and said "I haven't been there enough for Jack, haven't spent enough time with him."

"And how did your feelings change when it was possible that the boy in surgery might be Jack?"

Hotch thought for a moment. At the time, he hadn't really separated the two possibilities, but looking back on it, his perceptions had changed slightly. "I had hope once the doctors told us that the child would survive... it was the first glimmer of belief in hours." He looked at Ben. "I felt like I was being given a second chance to be a good father."

Dr. MacDonald replied sternly, "Just because you're a divorcee does **not** make you a bad father."

Hotch said nothing, but turned his head to look out the window. The doctor had gotten used to this sign of discomfort from his patient; it was a clue that something deeper was troubling him.

"Aaron, tell me about your childhood and your relationship with your father."

Hotch's head swivelled back and his eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Doctor, please don't give me that psycho babble on overcompensation of children for their delinquent parents."

"Was your father delinquent?" asked Ben, indifferently.

Aaron exhaled deeply. "It depends on your definition."

"Okay, so tell me about him. How did you two get along?"

"Alright, I guess. He was a lawyer within a successful practice. Looking back on it, we didn't really know each other. He died when I was quite young."

"A lawyer, eh? Weren't you a prosecutor prior to the FBI?"

A nod.

The doctor smiled, "A good role model then."

Hotch didn't smile or reply, but stared again out of the window.

'_Mmm, that comment went over like a lead balloon...no smile, no reaction... interesting__.'_ Ben jotted a few notes onto his pad. He now had some more insight into the seeds of Hotch's regret with respect to Jack... and his yet-to-be-admitted fear of failure. He wanted to know a little more, and to see how his client reacted to further questions.

"What do you remember about your dad, other than his work?"

Aaron shrugged. "Not all that much. He worked long hours and... uh...was known to have had affairs. I suppose what I recall is his absence, more than anything."

'_Bingo.'_ thought Ben. He changed tact. "Aaron, in your opinion, what makes a 'good' father?"

Hotch rested his forehead against the fingers of one hand. "I... I don't know anymore, doctor."

"What do you mean, 'anymore'?"

"Before this week, I would have said love... spending time with my son... being a good role model."

Ben nodded encouragingly, "but now?"

Aaron got up restlessly and went to stand by the window. He crossed his arms over his chest, thinking.

"I... I'm truly just not sure. Somewhere along the line my idea of 'good' became a little blurry."

Dr. MacDonald knew they were starting to get somewhere. Finally the agent's fortress was starting to crack; he was questioning previously held, solid convictions. Ben pressed on.

"When did it become blurred? During the snowstorm, while waiting for news on your son?" he guessed.

"That and afterwards."

Ben raised a questioning eyebrow. "Afterwards? What happened?"

"I had a talk with Agent Morgan." Hotch said softly.

'_Excellent!'_ the doctor thought joyfully. "May I ask what you discussed?"

Grudgingly, Aaron described the visit with Jack and subsequent conversation with Morgan. He gave a complete account, although he steadfastly looked out the window when relating Morgan's complements of him. Ben shook his head. _'The man simply refuses to accept praise... I wonder where that stems from...' _ He was about to ask, but decided not to distract the Agent from his current train of thought.

Instead, Ben said firmly but quietly. "Agent Hotchner, the first thing you mentioned was 'love'. It is definitely the most important ingredient in parenthood. Now, if you have any doubts whatsoever about your son's love for you, or your own love for him, we have some serious work to do... You have done everything imaginable for Jack. As Agent Morgan told you, correctly I might add, you have not let anyone down, **especially** Jack.

"But I'm curious. To make use of that 'second chance' as you put it, what would you like to do differently?"

Hotch hesitated and looked down at his feet. "I, um, I'd like to be a better role model and be there for him more than I am now..."

The doctor laid his pen and pad of paper on the coffee table. He got up and joined Hotch at the window.

"Aaron, look at me."

Hotch's eyes met Ben's. Ben continued, "Your son couldn't have a better role model. You have a very successful career. You earn enough money that Jack will not want for anything. AND, and this one is crucial! When you are with your son, he has your **undivided** attention. As for more time... we all want more time with our kids. But we do the best we can to balance ALL of their needs... time is only one of those; an important one, but a single factor nevertheless."

The Agent frowned, mulling the words over in his head. He knew that his son loved him. He just didn't want Jack's memory of his dad to be one of absenteeism. He wanted a father-son relationship where each knew the other, that Jack felt he could come to Hotch in any situation. That type of bond meant the investment of time...

Ben seemed to read Hotch's mind. "And Aaron..?"

Their eyes met again.

"Don't forget that 'time' isn't defined in black and white terms."

This thought had never occurred to Hotch. "What do you mean?"

"Many parents spend so-called 'time' with their children, but let's face it, a lot of that time is spent sitting on a bench while the child plays on the monkey bars, or reading the paper in the same room in which the youngster is on the computer or watching television. You are different. Because you understand that you cannot be with your son as much as you would like, your time with Jack is direct and hands-on. You shouldn't need me to tell you that that first-hand attention is exactly what a child needs. You have to remember the saying 'quality over quantity'. Do you get my meaning?"

Hotch's brain was racing. _'He's got a point... several, in fact. I can still do better, but maybe I'm not a total loss as a father... Haley has never complained about my visits in themselves, just the lack of them... And Jack seems to be pretty well-adjusted and happy...'_

Dr. MacDonald noticed a softening in his patient's expression; he knew that Hotch was considering the new viewpoint. _'Good! He's making great strides today.'_ He decided to push things that little bit further.

Returning to his chair, Ben said, "One last question about Jack and then I'd like to talk about Agent Hotchner, Unit Chief. From our discussion today so far, do you think that you resigning from the BAU would be good for your son?"

If Hotch was surprised by the question, he didn't show it. In fact, his expression was one of slight confusion. "I used to think so. After all, it is my job that takes me away from my family..."

Ben immediately picked up on the use of the term 'family' although Aaron seemed not to have noticed. _'He really needs to come to terms with his divorce...'_ he mused.

"But..?"

"But...uh... It's like you say, doctor, it is also my job that allows me to ensure Jack doesn't want for anything and..." here Hotch reddened slightly and he lowered his eyes, "...and Jack seems to be proud of what I do..."

"Smart lad." commented the psychologist. _'Okay, I'm finally getting him to re-think his fathering ability; time to move on and let that simmer in his mind. I'm very encouraged with his progress... maybe something positive did come out of that horribly stressful day. There is nothing like psychological trauma to help one do some serious inspection of themselves!'_

"Do you need a break, Agent? We've been at his awhile... or we can stop for today, but I think that we're moving forward, so I'd like to keep going if you're up to it?"

"I'd like to continue as well, doctor. And I'm fine, thank you."

"Great! So let's go back to the BAU and this resignation business. How serious were you?"

But before Hotch could answer, Ben interrupted.

"No, scrap that. First, I'd like to know how you've found your temper to be this week, and if you're still having those severe physical reactions to your flashbacks?"

Much to Aaron's surprise, he was able to report no new incidences of lost temper or body control. He had spent so much timing worrying about Jack he hadn't thought about his outbursts since the last appointment with the doctor. His extreme relief was palpable. Dr. MacDonald also suspected that he had his answer regarding the agent's desire to return to the FBI. Ben smiled broadly.

"No more explosions or fainting? That's fantastic news! Although I can't say that I'm surprised. The way you handled the phone call from Agent Jareau was illuminating... and inspiring. Good, we can move on then, agreed?"

There was only a split-second delay before Hotch nodded his assent but Ben caught it. He frowned.

"What is it Aaron?"

"I... nothing. I'm okay."

The doctor raised his eyebrows and sighed loudly. "Nice try. Come on, out with it."

Hotch's eyebrows furrowed. "I'm just a little concerned about physically freezing in the middle of a raid."

Dr. MacDonald regarded his patient calmly. "Agent, I firmly believe that by the time you're physically and emotionally ready to return to the BAU, you will be absolutely fine. You've come a long way in just a week!"

Hotch sighed. "I know that I should be okay, but I'd never forgive myself if someone was injured unnecessarily because I couldn't fire my gun in time."

"Aaron, that is all about getting your confidence back which is tough to rehabilitate. The brain isn't faked out by artificial environments so 'practicing' the type of stresses you're likely to encounter isn't particularly useful. However, for you... your confidence will naturally kick in when you get into your first case... just like riding a bike."

"How can you be so sure?" Hotch wasn't convinced.

"Because I saw how you exuded leadership and coolness under the worst possible circumstances: a potential personal tragedy."

Hotch was dubious. However, in spite of himself, he did take some solace in the fact that he had managed to keep himself in check during the Jack-scare, albeit barely.

The psychologist let several minutes go by in silence. He wanted to give Aaron an opportunity to absorb what had gone on in the session so far. The agent remained at the window, lost in his own thoughts.

"So," began Ben conversationally, "it seems like Agent Morgan made some interesting points."

Hotch turned himself away from the window and returned to his seat on the couch. "He gave me some things to think about." He conceded.

"I found his admission of taking you for granted very forthcoming... a sure sign of respect. I was also interested in his take on your flashbacks. How did you feel about Morgan's comments?"

Agent Hotchner felt like he would rather have a root canal than answer the question. The conversation with Morgan had been unsettling. Mainly, Hotch admitted, because Derek was probably right... there really was no-one to blame in the bust going bad. Hindsight was always 20-20 and Aaron knew that if he went too far down the 'if only' road, his effectiveness as a leader would be lost. Exactly when he had come to this realization, Hotch wasn't sure, but he felt foolish for having argued so adamantly otherwise. _'Dave must think I'm a fool...'_ he thought ruefully.

Eventually, Hotch became aware of the silence and that Dr. MacDonald was still awaiting an answer.

"Sorry. I... I think I was surprised by his words. Agent Morgan is always very direct, so that he could say something unexpected caught me off guard."

"Specifically, what did he say?"

"He ah... described the BAU as a family."

"Do you agree, Aaron?"

"In many respects, yes. The nature of what we do, the horrors that we witness create a very strong bond between us; that and the hours we spend together."

Ben leaned forward. "Then why were you surprised?"

Hotch stretched out his legs, wondering how to formulate his words. "Morgan tried to use the analogy to diffuse my responsibility as the team leader."

"And you disagree?"

"At first, yes... I was so focussed on the bad bust..."

Ben said knowingly, "And trying to blame yourself."

Hotch glared at the doctor, but then a slight smile crossed his face. "Yes, I was stuck in a rut thinking that as Unit Chief, I should have prevented it."

"I'm glad you've come to your senses." Dr. MacDonald teased.

Aaron bit back a retort, which made Ben laugh out loud. "Good save! You're definitely over your anger management issues!"

The two men grinned then Ben brought the conversation back on track, "So you disagreed with Derek's vision of leadership as related to the bust, but then you changed your mind?"

"I... I'm not sure that I've entirely changed my mind. In Morgan's head, a family relies on all of its members and doesn't place blame...everyone relies on everyone else..." he paused to take a sip of water from a glass on the table. "But that is too simplistic. If there were no extra reliance on the leader, who accepts responsibility when things go wrong and it IS appropriate to blame someone? Who makes the final decision when there is discord? Having a leader is necessary for us to function as a cohesive unit."

"Do you think that the same holds true even in a more traditional, social sense of 'family'?"

Hotch considered that. "Yes, although the leader can change in different circumstances."

"Ah ha!

Aaron looked questioningly at the doctor. "Ah ha?"

"You say that the leadership role can change in different circumstances in a family... so why can't you accept the same to be true at the BAU?"

"I'm not following..."

"Under normal working conditions, would you admit that your team depend on you? They may each contribute, but at the end, you make the decisions and are the leader, correct?"

"When you phrase it that way, then I suppose so, yes..."

"Ok, but now you're injured. Circumstances have changed. Outside of the FBI, this hasn't been a problem for you. You simply accept the role change until you're healed. For example, you didn't put up a fight when you needed someone to push your wheelchair as long as it wasn't one of your team. But when thinking about the BAU, you aren't able to do the same. You still think you should have been making the decisions, being the role model even when you were bleeding profusely and a hostage, when fighting for your life in the ICU, and even now, when officially you've been placed on sick-leave. I've heard how you refuse to let your colleagues help with your rehab and physiotherapy exercises...

"I think that what Agent Morgan was hinting at is that you are used to people relying on you. But now that things have changed, you cannot seem to accept the reverse. Derek was trying to get you to see that you have to let yourself depend on the rest of the family.

"You're a very unselfish man, Aaron. But now is the time to let those around you who care, give you a hand. I know your refusal isn't a pride thing. You're not a narcissist; you just seem to have an exaggerated sense of leadership. And from one of our first sessions I know that you may see the acceptance of aid as a sign of weakness. But you can see from Morgan's other complements how deeply respected you are... accepting help will not take away from your authority. In fact, it will only make you stronger in your team's eyes because it takes courage to admit that you need it. I hope that you can begin to see that.

It was a great deal to absorb and Hotch was beginning to feel drained from all of the concentration that had been required. But he also felt like he was getting somewhere at last. The original issue of his angry outbursts was gone and he was hopeful that the flashbacks would be manageable. The deeper, unspoken fears of being a poor father and someone no longer effective in his job were lingering, but Hotch no longer felt overwhelmed by them. He felt his confidence gradually beginning to return... certainly not to the extent he needed it to be for BAU Unit Chief, but for the first time since his shooting, Aaron was optimistic he would recover fully, both physically and emotionally. _'I'll be ready for that psych eval! After Ben, those FBI doctors will seem like amateurs.'_

Ben watched his patient carefully. He was pleased with the progress that had been made but saw that Aaron had had enough for today. Hotch had leant his head back on the couch and closed his eyes. And yet the psychologist had one last challenge up his sleeve.

"Agent?"

Hotch opened his eyes and looked expectantly at the doctor. "Yes?"

"Tell me something... have you opened that big stack of cards in your room yet?"

Hotch was startled. He didn't know that Ben knew anything about the cards. He cringed.

"I... uh...I... No, I haven't."

"Why not, Aaron?"

The patient reassumed his defensive posture, arms folded protectively across his chest. "I... I... People shouldn't have sent them in the first place." he mumbled.

Dr. MacDonald sighed. _'Well, I can't expect him to have healed completely...'_

"Agent Hotchner, I thought that we were past you blaming yourself for the bad raid?"

Hotch unfolded his arms and began fidgeting with his hands. "We are."

"Then what is the problem with colleagues and friends wishing you a speedy recovery?"

"I... I don't know... Maybe... irrespective of blame, I just don't feel like I deserve them."

"Why would you say that?" Ben asked gently.

"I just don't want this whole thing as being seen as heroic. Lots of people get shot and survive. This shouldn't be such a big deal."

Ben shook his head in disbelief. Hotch had bowed his head, his hands folded together on his lap.

"Aaron. While that may be true, this was not a case of a simple gunshot wound and I think if you look deep enough within yourself, you know that. You cheated death. Yes, there are others who have also beaten the odds. But it is your **actions** during that time that stand out... diffusing the escalation of your captor's behaviour with a gun to your head and whilst suffering severe blood loss; insisting on Agent Rossi's release before your own; dashing out into a severe snowstorm while still physically impaired... need I go on?"

"No. Please don't. I'm sorry, I just don't see any of that as being special... my colleagues and any parent would have done the same."

The doctor sighed. "We'll argue some more about this next session... You will come back even though you're an out-patient, won't you?"

Hotch nodded. "You have been very helpful, doctor. Thank you."

"No, Agent, no need to thank me. YOU did all the work. We're not quite there yet, but we've taken some big steps forward today."

They rose from their respective seats and shook hands. Hotch saw a twinkle appear in Ben's eyes. He groaned.

"Now what?" he asked.

Ben laughed. "I have a homework assignment for you."

Hotch grunted warily and waited.

"I'd like you to bring those cards to our next appointment... opened and read."

Aaron rolled his eyes but reluctantly agreed. He was halfway out the door when Ben spoke again,

"And Aaron? If you need any reminder of today, or you need motivation to pick up a letter-opener for those cards just look into your son's eyes... or at that wonderful statue he gave you."

'_Now how did he know about that?!!'_

***


	14. Chapter 14

**Chapter ****14**

It was a rainy day in Virginia and traffic was at a standstill. Pedestrians huddled under umbrellas as they scurried along the sodden sidewalks. Irritable drivers were leaning on their horns. Stopped at yet another red light, Sean tapped the steering wheel impatiently and glanced over at his brother. Aaron was staring out the window, hands wrapped tightly around his briefcase.

"Want me to put on the siren, bro?"

Hotch shook his head. "No. We've still got plenty of time; Quantico isn't that far... take your second left and we should be able to dodge the worst of this mess."

"Okay. You're the boss."

Although the brothers had spent the last month repairing their relationship and were now closer than they had been since childhood, the younger Hotchner knew to keep conversation to a minimum when Aaron was nervous. Not that the man looked at all anxious. His face was expressionless and relaxed; his manner cool and controlled. The only thing that betrayed the butterflies in his stomach was the clenching of his hands.

'_We're complete opposites.'_ thought Sean. _'I was flipping out before my opening night at the restaurant.'_

They drove on in comfortable silence and as Hotch had predicted, arrived at the FBI Headquarters a good twenty minutes prior to his appointment. Sean pulled the SUV up next to the front door so that his brother's suit wouldn't get too wet.

"The whole thing takes a couple of hours? I'll be back to pick you up and we can go for dinner."

Getting ready to use his briefcase as protection against the rain, Hotch nodded and opened the door.

"Hey, Aaron? Go kick some ass."

Hotch looked at his brother and smiled slightly. "Thanks."

Aaron felt a little bit like an outsider as he walked the corridors to the office of Section Chief Erin Strauss. Despite receiving broad smiles and hand-shakes from everyone he passed, it had been a long time since he had made this trek. He deliberately avoided going anywhere near the BAU. Usually, he was not superstitious but at the same time, didn't want to jinx himself. _'Calm down, Aaron. You know you're ready, let's just get it over with.'_ He raised his hand and knocked on his supervisor's door.

***

The following day, Aaron sat in a coffee shop across from the hospital, reading the paper while waiting for his brother, who had taken the car to run some errands. Hotch had had a busy morning, fitting in final appointments with Dr. Travis, Meagan and Kyle as well as a session with Dr. MacDonald. From a physical standpoint, he was fitter now than before his being shot and had been told kindly not to come back by his surgeon. Ben was still chipping away at the agent's deeper psychological issues, but had signed Hotch's 'return to work' form after Aaron had promised to meet him on a monthly basis.

All that remained between Agent Hotchner and return to the BAU were the results from his recent evaluations. He knew he had scored well at the shooting range and fitness assessments but the doctor performing the psychological testing was difficult to read, even for a skilled profiler. The agent thought he had done enough to show his emotional competence for work, but until the official letter arrived, he would be on edge.

Hotch sighed and took a sip out of his coffee mug. _'Patience!'_ he told himself. _'At least you're getting to spend a lot of time with Jack.' _It was the best part of not being allowed to work. Aaron had revelled in the joys of fatherhood. Father and son had spent hours playing in the park and at home. Haley knew that her ex-husband's schedule wouldn't be flexible for long, so she allowed him virtually full-time custody. Hotch was rewarded by being present for Jack's first successful solo ride on his bicycle_. 'It was one of the best days of my life' _he later told Rossi.

Aaron also spent a good deal of time with Sean. He had to admit that his brother had proven to be an excellent nurse-maid and uncle. Aaron knew that he would miss their banter when Sean returned to New York the following week. _'And his cooking... the man is incredibly talented! I'm not looking forward to going back to meals out of a box.'_

He checked his watch and decided he had time for another coffee. Approaching the counter with his mug, Hotch's attention was caught by a man sitting alone in a corner of the cafe. There was nothing particularly noteworthy in his appearance; he was of medium height and build, dressed neatly in a business suit. But his mannerisms were in sharp contrast to the professional attire. The man's hands were shaking as he lifted his cup to his lips. His eyes darted nervously around the shop; they made contact with Hotch's for a split second before moving on.

'_Oh for goodness sake, Aaron, quit profiling everyone you run into. The guy might be waiting for an interview... or news from test results as we're so close to a hospital.'_ All the same, Hotch kept glancing at the man as he collected his refill and returned to his own table. _'Something about him... he's too nervous... and it's getting worse.'_

Hotch spread his already-read newspaper open and pretended to be engrossed in its contents. _'Ok, now you really are getting paranoid... and obsessed. Finish your coffee and call Sean!'_

This was made easier when the man got up and left the cafe. Hotch saw him cross the street and make towards the entrance to the hospital. _'See?!! You were right, just getting some test results back.'_ And yet something wasn't right. Hotch couldn't put his finger on it, but his instinct told him to act. He folded up his paper and tucking it under his arm, followed in the direction the strange man had taken.

Agent Hotchner was metres from the hospital entrance when he heard gunfire from within. Ducking behind a parked ambulance, he pulled out his cell phone.

"Captain, my dear Captain, what can I do for you? Want me to come and babysit that sweetie son of yours?" came Garcia's chipper voice.

"Sometime soon, Garcia, but no. I need you to send me Morgan, Rossi and a sketch artist ASAP and call for back-up. Tell them no sirens! I'm outside the entrance to the General hospital's ER and just heard gunfire."

"Sir, you're not thinking of going in there..?! Need I remind you, respectfully, that you're not supposed to..."

"No time for formalities. Just get them here and have Reid and Prentiss on stand-by. Oh, and I'll need JJ to help with the press."

"Yes sir." There was a short pause. "And sir?"

"What is it Garcia?"

"Please be careful... we need you back."

"I'll be fine... but thanks." Hotch snapped the phone shut and considered his options. The doors to the ER were closed and hadn't opened since the sound of the shots. Aaron suspected that the unsub was the man from the coffee shop. That gave him a very slim advantage but hardly enough for a profile. He needed to know what was going on in there. Was it a hostage situation? Potential suicide? Targeted murder? Hotch wished he was armed. As he waited for the arrival of his team, he wracked his brains for the layout of the ER. _'I was unconscious each time I came through those doors!'_ he thought, shaking his head in frustration.

Keeping out of sight of the doors, Hotch manoeuvred around the ambulance and approached the entrance from the side. He kept his back flattened against the wall, crouched down, and slowly stuck his head around the corner. Mercifully, the automatic door opening mechanism failed and the doors remained closed. Hotch peered through the glass. He could see a fallen security guard lying on his back with a gunshot wound to the head. The patients seem to have been herded into the main waiting room, on the left side of the ER. There was silence. The reception desk was deserted. _'Where is all of the staff?'_ Hotch vaguely recalled the examination rooms being down another corridor, to the right of the main area. _'Who are you after? A doctor? A patient?'_

Hotch retreated to relative safety behind the ambulance and saw an FBI SUV pull up, lights off, out of sight of the hospital entrance. Morgan and Rossi emerged, wearing their Kevlar vests and began to make their way towards the ambulance. Morgan carried an extra vest, which he handed to Hotch as soon as they arrived. Rossi bent down and unbuckled an ankle holster which held a Glock. "Thought this might come in handy" he remarked offering it to Aaron.

"Thanks." said Hotch, cinching his vest. He wrapped the holster around his ankle, enjoying the familiar weight and comfort.

"What have we got?" asked Morgan.

Hotch quickly recounted all he had seen in the ER and what he observed in the coffee shop.

"Look, I know it sounds a bit crazy and a lot coincidental, but there was just something about the man..."

Rossi looked at Morgan, then at Hotch. "Your gut instinct is good enough for me. How do you want to play this?"

"Let's set up a perimeter..."

"Already done. We left JJ to hold back the media."

"Good! Is the sketch artist in the van?"

Morgan nodded. "I'll go get her."

Hotch turned to Rossi. "I'll give a description and maybe the team can find something useful. But we need to get in there and make contact. I don't remember the layout of the ER... I figured you could help me with that..."

"You're assuming that it's a hostage situation?"

"Seems reasonable... I only heard two gunshots. One must have been the security guard. If the guy were committing suicide, we'd have people running out those doors by now. He can't be far away, maybe just out of sight. Do you remember where the exam rooms are? Can we get in from behind him?"

"Mmm, won't be easy. We'll need a diversion."

"I can give him that, I just need the megaphone."

Agent Morgan returned with the sketch artist. He held a piece of paper. "Garcia made contact with Dr. MacDonald who managed to dig up a map of the hospital. He's also alerted hospital security, so there shouldn't be anyone getting in or out of the building. We've just got to worry about the docs already in surgery."

Hotch nodded approvingly. "Good. We may be able to use Ben again."

The agents poured over the map.

"Okay, so we think our unsub may be about here." Rossi stabbed the paper with a finger. Morgan, do you think that you can get to this area? You'll have some cover but not a great view of the waiting area."

"Consider it done." replied Morgan, attaching his communication earpiece. His colleagues followed suit. "I'll let you know when I'm close." With that, he headed off towards the west side of the building and was soon out of sight.

Rossi established contact with the rest of the team and retrieved the megaphone while Hotch worked with the sketch artist. Within minutes a rough drawing was scanned and sent to Reid, Prentiss and Garcia, as well as to Morgan.

"I don't expect this man to have a record." Hotch told Prentiss. "I think he's snapped but anything you can find to identify the trigger will be helpful... And Prentiss? Remember that it may not be him..."

"Understood, Sir. We're on it."

"Thanks." Hotch said and put away his cell. He could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins but he wasn't nervous. It felt 'right'.

Rossi watched his partner in full-on 'Unit Chief' mode and smiled to himself. _'Welcome back Aaron.'_

The two agents heard a brief crackle of static through their earpieces before Morgan's voice. "I'm in and have the unsub in sight. You were right, Hotch, it's your pal from the coffee shop. The good news is that I've gotten into the three operating rooms so they're all clear. The bad news is that the guy's escalating. His whole body's shaking and he's yelling a bunch of garbage I can't make out."

"Foreign language?" suggested Rossi.

"Nope, just a bunch of incoherent half sentences. But that isn't the worst of it..."

There was a pause and more static.

"Morgan? You still there???" demanded Hotch.

"Uh yeah. The unsub has a hostage and is holding a gun to his head.

"Do you have a shot?"

"No. He's turning in circles and is using the doc as a shield... almost like he's expecting company. But Hotch..."

"Spit it out, Morgan, we don't have time!" exclaimed Hotch irritably.

"Hotch, I think that the hostage is your surgeon... Doc Travis..."

Hotch went cold. He closed his eyes. Keith Travis had not only saved his life but had become a friend. Quickly, he collected himself. "Reid, Prentiss! Anything yet?"

"Not much." Reid replied. "We've got a name, a Mr. Justin Clarke. Thirty-one years old, a high-school teacher. As you suspected Hotch, no priors. He's married, no children and seems to be doing alright financially."

"Any hint of marital issues?" Rossi asked.

"Prentiss has gone to the house to interview the wife, but so far there is nothing to suggest an extramarital affair."

"Something had to have happened to set this man off. Find it Reid." Hotch said, looking grimly at Rossi. "Ready Dave?"

"Show time." answered Rossi drawing his weapon.

Agent Hotchner picked up the megaphone and switched it on. "Mr. Clarke?" he said loudly. "My name is Aaron Hotchner and I'm with the FBI. Justin, I just want to talk. Would you open the doors, please?"

There was no response from inside the hospital.

"Justin? How about letting those people in the waiting room go? You have my word that no one will hurt you if you open the doors."

Still no reply.

"Reid?" hissed Rossi. "We need something for Hotch to go on!"

"I'll get hold of Prentiss immediately!"

"Hurry, Reid! We don't have much time. The way this guy's acting, he's going to start shooting again soon."

Meanwhile, Hotch had inched closer to the ER entrance. He could now see the gunman who was continuing to move about erratically.

"Dave, I've got to get in there and see if I can talk him down."

Rossi nodded in agreement. "I'll cover you. Just don't let him close the doors."

"Mr. Clarke?" Hotch said into the megaphone. "How about a trade? In exchange for everyone in the waiting room, you can have me. I'm an FBI Agent so more valuable."

Through the glass, Aaron could see Clarke hesitate.

"Do we have a deal, Justin?"

Dragging his captive with him, Clarke moved over to the Admissions desk.

"Damn!" whispered Morgan. "I've lost visual!"

Suddenly, the doors to the hospital slid open. Justin had a firm grip on the gun and had it jammed against Dr. Travis' left temple. Hotch saw that his friend was scared, but in control. _'Good.'_ thought Aaron. _'I can trust him to be able to act if necessary.'_

The two men made eye contact for an instant but neither gave any sign of recognition.

Hotch moved forward, weapon aimed at the gunman. "Okay Justin, let the patients go and I'll come in." He kept his voice low and controlled.

Again, Clarke hesitated. He was still moving restlessly, but remained behind the desk and out of sight of Agent Morgan.

"Why... Why... Why should I trust you??!" he screamed manically.

"I can't give you a good reason Justin. But I can give you my promise that I won't shoot if you free all of the hostages." Replied Hotch calmly.

Clarke chewed his bottom lip as he considered this.

"Hotch!" Rossi's voice came through the earpiece. "I've just heard from Reid. Prentiss couldn't talk to the wife, but found the mother at home. Justin Clarke has suffered from bi-polar depression since his early 20's. He came off his meds two days ago. His mother has been worried sick because he went out last night and didn't come home..."

'_Wonderful.'_ Thought Hotch. _'I've got a loose cannon in front of me.'_

"And get this..." Dave continued. "Two days ago his wife underwent an emergency c-section. The baby died..."

"Got it." Murmured Hotch. The death of the child had been the trigger. It also explained Clarke's choice of captive. He wondered if the wife had survived.

"Justin? Please release these people. You didn't come here to hurt the innocent. You came because you're angry and upset with the hospital."

The gunman looked surprised but the grip on his gun tightened.

"Come on Mr. Clarke, you know I'm right." Hotch said gently. "Let these others go."

More chewing on the bottom lip. Then it stopped abruptly. Clarke's face relaxed slightly but his voice hardened. "Alright Agent, you have your deal... But I'm keeping this one!"

Agent Rossi moved forward and began ushering the patients out of the hospital; Hotch kept his gun pointed at Clarke as cover. Once Aaron was sure of the safety of the hostages, he slowly bent down and re-holstered his weapon.

"Hotch, I hope you know what you're doing..." muttered Rossi through the earpiece.

Hotch nodded slightly and straightened himself. Clarke pushed a button from behind the desk and the ER doors slid shut once more.

"Dammit, Hotch!" Rossi was exasperated. "Morgan? Hotch has put his gun away and is standing about four feet from the front of the reception desk. Clarke and the doc are still behind it."

"Can Garcia get eyes on us all?" whispered Morgan.

"Probably, but that's not going to help us in this case. I can see what's going on, I just don't have the shot through Hotch and this reinforced glass.

"Hotch, I know you can hear me. Just give me a sign man; I'll be shooting in two seconds."

Hotch regarded the gunman. Clarke seems slightly less jumpy now that there were less people and the FBI Agent had put his gun away.

"May I sit?" Hotch inquired. "I've only just recovered from an injury."

Clarke shrugged indifferently.

The agent slowly lowered himself to the ground, positioning himself so his back rested against a low wall dividing the waiting room from the area in front of the Admissions desk. He pulled his legs up and placed his hands non-threateningly on his knees.

"Atta boy, Aaron!" thought Rossi. "Morgan? Hotch is sitting on the ground in the front entranceway, still about four feet from the desk. He's got access to his gun in a matter of seconds. Clarke seems to have calmed down a little but the barrel of the gun is still against Travis' head. If he wants to see Hotch, he's going to have to come out from behind the desk. You might have a line on him then so be ready."

"Copy that."

"So Justin." Hotch started conversationally. "Where do we go from here? Your mother is very worried about you, you know."

Clarke's eyes became suddenly alert and narrowed suspiciously. "What do you know about it?"

Hotch's tone was compassionate as he said, "I know you recently lost your baby."

The gun dipped slightly for a moment but then Clarke recovered and began pacing behind the desk, maintaining his head-lock on Travis. For his part, Keith seemed to be keeping hold of the panic that must be eating away at him.

"You're just trying to trick me!" shouted Clarke.

"No I'm not, Justin. My agents have spoken to your mother. She told us the whole story. I'm very sorry for your loss. I almost lost my own child recently..."

"You're just saying that to stall for time." spat Clarke.

"No, I'm telling the truth. I have a four-year old son. He was missing and the only clue we could find led me to think he was dead. It was the worst time in my life..."

"LIAR!" screamed Clarke.

"Hotch, hurry up, he's escalating again. Get him out from the desk, into the open!" Rossi spoke urgently into his communicator.

"If you don't believe me, take a look at this." And reaching into a pocket, Hotch pulled out a picture of Jack. He slid it along the floor; it came to a stop in the middle of the entry area.

Clarke, breathing heavily, tightened his grip on his captive and shoved the gun into Keith's forehead. Keith groaned, his eyes filled with fear. The pair began to shuffle awkwardly out from behind the desk.

Hotch watched them carefully as they neared the photograph. Clarke was chewing his bottom lip again, and spinning as though still expecting to be ambushed by yet unseen assailants.

"I can see him, but can't get a clear shot while he's movin' around so damn much!" Morgan said softly through clenched teeth.

Never once taking his eyes off of Clarke's face, Hotch inched his hands towards his ankles. It was a painstakingly slow process. Clarke came to a stop only for a brief second. Still chewing his lip he glanced at the photo on the floor then started his manic dance again.

"So what?!!" he yelled. "You still have a kid. Thanks to this asshole, I don't!"

Hotch didn't reply but kept his eyes fixed on Clarke's bottom lip. He could feel the cold steel of his Glock as his fingers closed around its handle. Justin Clarke's spinning became slower, his chewing faster.

"Well you know what agent? What goes around comes around. This surgeon took my baby's life. Now I'm going to take his!"

Abruptly, the chewing stopped. Clarke's face relaxed. His finger began to squeeze the trigger...

BANG!

Morgan dashed out from his position in a side corridor. "Jesus!" Rounding the corner, he took in the scene. Justin Clarke lay on his back, a slow trickle of blood from a single gunshot wound to the temple running down one side of his forehead. Agent Hotchner was sitting on the ground, cradling Dr. Travis's head in his lap and trying to comfort the trembling doctor. He looked up at the younger agent's approach.

"Morgan, let Rossi in and find us some medics, please." he said softly.

"You got it, boss."

***

A short time later Hotch knocked on the door to small, private room in the hospital. Keith Travis was propped up in bed, arguing with a nurse. Hotch smiled in amusement. His surgeon was still very pale, but if he had the strength to be issuing orders, then he must be feeling better.

"Aaron! Come in!" Keith shooed the glaring nurse away with a wave of his hand. She sniffed in loud disapproval but left, closing the door softly behind her.

Hotch pulled up a chair and looked at his friend. "This seems odd... and backwards." He smiled.

The doctor-come-patient grinned weakly. "Yeah, I think I preferred it the other way around." He held out his hands, which still had a slight tremor. "Mmm, not quite fit for surgery."

Hotch gently took hold of Keith's hands and lay them back on the blanket. "Give yourself some time; you've been through quite an ordeal."

"Wow, I think that's one of my direct quotes to you!" Keith shook his head in mock disgust. He then grew serious. "Aaron... I... Thank you for saving my life. I know that isn't enough, but it's all I can offer."

Hotch shook his head. "Keith, after all you have done for me over the past months this was the very least that I could do. I'm just thankful that we had a happy ending."

There was a knock at the door and Ben MacDonald burst into the room.

"Keith! Are you alright?!!"

"I'm a bit shaky, but I'll be fine. Might need to make use of some of your services though..."

"Of course, any time." Ben put his hand on Hotch's shoulder. "Aaron, you and your team... we owe you a big thank you."

Hotch looked up at his psychologist. "As I was just telling Dr. Travis, it was our pleasure. No thanks necessary."

Ben sat down on the edge of the bed. "I just can't believe that something like this happened at our hospital... talk about classic denial!" He looked at Hotch. "Aaron, I know this may not be the time or place, but I just wanted to say that I hope you have absolutely no doubts as to your readiness for duty? I don't give a damn what those evaluations say, after today there should be no question! You just send your supervisor to me if those bureaucratic idiots try to tell you otherwise."

Hotch smiled at the passion in Ben's voice. He hadn't really had any doubts about his ability to resume his post as Unit Chief, but the day's events **had** helped to solidify his determination to continue his job and cemented his new-found confidence. "Thanks... Ben."

Their eyes met briefly. Dr. MacDonald recognized the symbolism of Aaron having addressed him by his Christian name for the very first time: more than respect, it was a sign of extreme trust. From Agent Hotchner, there was no greater complement.

***


	15. Chapter 15

**Chapter ****15**

A sudden quiet descended on the Hotchner residence. Prentiss, Garcia, JJ and Reid got into their respective vehicles, waved at one another and drove away. Hotch stood in his front doorway, watching Morgan fumble in his pockets for his car keys. As a way of saying 'thank you' to his team for all of their unwavering support, Aaron had asked Sean to help him host a large 'family' brunch. It had been a relaxed, cheerful affair with a lot of the team's usual good-natured teasing. Hotch hadn't realized just how much he had missed feeling a part of it all. The thought brought a pang of anxiety. He was still waiting for the results from his psych evaluation and Strauss' subsequent decision on if/when he could return to work. After the events in the hospital, the agent felt ready. His team had responded to his directions without question; they still trusted him. Hotch knew he was doing the right thing for them and for Jack by returning to the BAU; the delay was making him restless.

"Uncle Morgan, are you looking for these?" young Jack Hotchner appeared by his father's side with a set of car keys in one hand.

Morgan ruffled the boy's hair. "Nice work, kid. Thanks!"

Jack grinned, hugged his dad and skipped back inside.

"Hotch, that's one great son you have."

Hotch nodded. "Yep, I'm a lucky man." He hesitated, "Lucky for a lot of things... Morgan, I..."

Morgan held up his hand to stop the rest of the sentence. "Forget it, man. I've lost count the number of times you've saved my ass, or kicked it when I needed it." He started to walk towards his car, then turned abruptly and came back.

"Hotch? You never really said anything about returning to work... You ARE coming back to us, aren't you? I mean, you were on fire the other day! How did you know when to shoot?"

Aaron smiled slightly. "Don't worry. Yes, my intention is to come back. But I still haven't heard from Strauss. I'm beginning to wonder what her intentions are. She's never been my biggest fan... As for the shooting, Clarke had a nervous habit of chewing his bottom lip. But he seemed to be in greatest control when he stopped it. His face would relax and he seemed to find some confidence. So I watched his bottom lip."

"Nice profiling boss. And come on man, you know those evals are just a formality!"

Hotch sighed. "I hope so Morgan." He held out his hand. "In any event, thanks."

The two men shook hands. Derek headed towards his car while Hotch returned to the living-room where Rossi and Jack were working on a puzzle.

"Where's Sean?" asked Aaron, putting his hand affectionately on his son's shoulder.

"In the kitchen, I think." Dave said, not taking his eyes off of the jumble of puzzle pieces. "I wasn't paying attention... any distraction and this monkey has half the puzzle done!"

Jack giggled. Chuckling in amusement, Hotch went in search of his brother.

"Hey bro, pass me that pan would you?" Sean's arms were half submerged in soapy water.

"I thought we agreed that the cooking was your department and the dishes mine?!" Hotch handed over the pan with exaggerated exasperation.

Sean laughed. "Gotta leave you with some reason to invite me back! But you can grab a tea towel; I'm running out of room."

Aaron did as he was told and soon the kitchen was back to its sparkling, pre-brunch condition. As he opened the frig and pulled out a couple of bottles of beer, Hotch said, "Sean, I'm really glad you came back. Thanks for all your help... and I'm sorry for being an asshole in the hospital."

The younger Hotchner wiped his hands on a spare towel and looked upon his brother. He tried unsuccessfully to keep a straight face. "It's okay Aaron I'm used to it by now."

Hotch rolled his eyes.

"Ok, seriously, I'm grateful too... not that you got shot, obviously, but that you're such a stubborn s.o.b and you lived to enjoy my cooking." He grabbed a beer out of Hotch's hand, managed to avoid the dish towel that flew towards him, and laughing, sauntered into the living-room.

Hotch stood at the doorway and surveyed the view in front of him. _'All the people I care deeply about.'_ He smiled to himself. Sean lay on the couch watching football on TV. Dave and Jack had finished the puzzle and were now sprawled on the floor arm wrestling. Jack's giggles of pleasure were music to Aaron's ears.

'_You're incredibly lucky, Aaron. You have your health back, your family and some incredible friends... just one thing missing...'_ he sighed and, moving his brother's feet out of the way, joined him on the couch.

No sooner had he sat down, however, when the doorbell rang.

"Morgan's forgotten something." Guessed Rossi, his voice slightly muffled by Jack, who was sitting on the agent's front, trying to pin one of Dave's arms to the carpet.

"Jack, be careful... Uncle Dave's not as strong as you are." Hotch called over his shoulder as he opened the front door.

Section Chief Erin Strauss stood on the bottom step, looking stern. She was dressed in a business suit and carried a large briefcase.

"M'am." Hotch greeted her politely.

"Agent Hotchner." She replied. "I'm sorry for just dropping by unannounced but we need to talk. May I come in?"

The pang of anxiety returned. _'She doesn't look happy.'_ Thought Hotch. _'But to hell with the psych results, I'm ready!'_

"Please." Aaron held open the door. He led the way into the living room.

"Jack, would you take your Uncle Dave and Uncle Sean into the kitchen please. You can watch them arm wrestle and take on the winner."

Jack had moved to stand next to his father and was hugging one of Hotch's legs, sensing the tension in the room. He looked up at Hotch, then at the stranger. Reluctantly, he let go of his dad. "Okay... "

Rossi nodded a greeting at Strauss and placed his hand on Aaron's arm as he passed by, a gesture of support.

Section Chief Strauss took a seat on the couch and opening her briefcase said, "Agent, I've got the results from your evaluations. But before we go through them, we have to talk about what happened at the hospital last week."

"M'am, I realize that I hadn't yet been reinstated but..."

"Correct, Agent. You should have turned over the negotiations to Agent Rossi as soon as he arrived. No 'buts'."

Hotch gritted his teeth in preparation for a further tirade, but none came. Instead, Strauss suddenly smiled.

"Alright, that was the official slap on the wrist. In reality, I'm pleased that you took control. Everyone at the Bureau knows you wrote the book on negotiation and you managed to get a successful outcome under very trying circumstances. Well done."

"Thank you." Hotch said. _'Come on let's just get on with this! Do I get my job back??!'_

Strauss pulled a folder from her briefcase, opened it, and pulled out a sheet of paper.

Aaron's heart began racing. _'She's literally holding my future in her hands...'_

"'Return to active duty' evaluation results" read the Section Chief. She stopped and eyed her agent over the paper. _'How does he always manage to seem so calm?!!'_ she wondered.

"'Weapon handling: excellent. Physical fitness: excellent. Emotional and psychological summary: SSA Hotchner appears to have made a complete recovery from his injuries. He has demonstrated that he is able to accept what has happened and I foresee no danger to the agent or his team from his return to the field'."

Hotch didn't react. He knew that his supervisor still had the final say. Strauss put the evaluation back into her briefcase.

"Now as you are aware, I look beyond the evaluations when deciding on an agent's return to duty, especially those in leadership positions. I've asked for feedback from your doctors and health practitioners and considered the requirements of head of the BAU."

'_Get on with it!'_ screamed Hotch inwardly.

"... and I am very pleased to say that as of now, you may return to your job as Unit Chief..."

Her words were drowned out by loud whoops erupting from the kitchen. Hotch frowned. "Sorry..."

Strauss laughed. "Agent Hotchner, if I were going to deliver bad news, do you really think that I'm cruel enough to do so at your own home?" She jerked her head towards the kitchen and said loudly, "Why don't we ask the eavesdroppers to join us?!!"

Looking slightly sheepish, Sean and Rossi entered the room followed by Jack.

"SSA Hotchner, I can't imagine what this whole ordeal has been like for you and your family. I wouldn't have blamed you for choosing to change careers... but I'd like you to know that I'm extremely proud of your strength and courage. The FBI and BAU in particular, are fortunate to have such talent and dedication."

"Amen." Murmured Rossi. Hotch glared at him, but his facial expression changed when Jack scrambled onto his lap.

"Do you get to go back to work, daddy?" he asked, not understanding Strauss' words.

The Section Chief answered before Hotch could formulate a reply.

"Yes, sweetie, your daddy can start work whenever he's ready." She again dug into her briefcase with one hand and used the other to motion to Jack. He looked a little unsure of what to do.

"It's okay, Jack, this woman is my boss, and she won't hurt you."

Jack shyly approached the couch.

"Jack," Strauss presented him with a small object. "Would you please give this to your dad?"

Jack nodded and cradled the item in his hands. He walked over to Hotch and gravely dropped it into Aaron's outstretched palm. Hotch hugged his son as his fingers closed over the familiar article.

"What is it, daddy?"

"My badge, Jack. It tells people who I am and what I do."

Jack beamed proudly at him. "But you don't need it. You're my daddy and the bestest in the whooole world!"

Hotch coughed in embarrassment.

Strauss got up to leave. "Well, I'll leave you to your day. Aaron, I'm sorry again for the intrusion but I thought that you would want to hear about your reinstatement ASAP."

"I'm grateful, thank you." The pair walked towards the front door. Strauss reached into her briefcase for a final time and passed him two Glocks. "I didn't want to return these in front of your son..."

"Thanks, I appreciate it." They shook hands.

"SSA Hotchner, BAU Unit Chief, I will see you beginning of next week."

"I'll be there."

"Good-bye, Aaron. I'm glad that you're back."

Hotch shut the door and rejoined his family in the living-room. The others had turned on the football game again. He sat down in a chair and let his mind wander.

'_Well, Aaron, somehow you're received everything you could want... a beautiful son, a renewed relationship with your brother, a dear friend and a job that you were always meant to do...' _

His eyes fell upon an unopened envelope on the mantelpiece which was propped up by the lion statue that he had received from Jack. It was the last of Dr. Ben MacDonald's card-opening challenge; the one from his team. Hotch admitted that he still had some unresolved emotional issues. But he also realized that he now possessed the ability (with help from Ben) to begin to work through them. In the meantime, he felt a renewed confidence and energy. Rising from the chair, he picked up the card and began to tear open the envelope.

'_Welcome back, Aaron... recovery complete.'_

"A man who won't die for something is not fit to live."

(Martin Luther King)


End file.
